


Not The Knight She Expected

by Draupadi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Married Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, POV Sandor Clegane, Parent Sandor, Parents Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Protective Sandor Clegane, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Virgin Sandor Clegane, Virgin!Sandor, sweet!Sandor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-04-16 20:12:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 63,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14172537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draupadi/pseuds/Draupadi
Summary: During the autumn festival at Casterly Rock, Sansa Stark finds herself in a compromising situation (note: non-con elements here). A husband has to be found and quick. As a means of last resort, Sandor Clegane receives an unexpected marriage order. Given a little time, the two of them might just be able to make the most of it.This story is set in the world of Westeros but follows a completely different story line. I imagine Sansa to be around 16, while Sandor is 24, in service of the Lannisters, and more than a bit lonely.####################The tender/sexy/smutty moments are picking up in Chapter 9. Just so you know.





	1. Going South

She dreamed of love, of handsome knights and never-ending summers. Never did she dream that her life would end in shame at the age of just 16.

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“Arya, can you see it? We are almost there!” In her excitement, Sansa nervously bounced on her seat, eyes trained on the horizon. She even forgot to take care not to rumple her gown. Arya only rolled her eyes. They had been confined to the carriage since early morning. Today, they would finally make Casterly Rock and, apparently, the daughters of Winterfell did not ride into the courtyard on horseback wearing leather pants and tunics. It wouldn’t do to be mistaken for a man-at-arms. Not that anyone would mistake Sansa for a man. Not that Sansa would ride on a horse or wear pants, for that matter. She was perfectly happy to be sitting in a coach. In fact, she had been perfectly happy since their father announced, one moon ago, that they would be going south for the autumn festival.

Her mother had called them down one evening. “Arya, Sansa, join your father in the solar. There is something you need to know.” She smiled, but it looked a little strained.  When the two girls arrived, their brothers, Robb and Jon, were already seated in front of the fire place. Lord Stark was sitting behind his desk, looking at a parchment that had seen better days.

Ned sighed and looked up. His smile was warm but small. “Arya, Sansa, come in. Sit with your brothers, there is news for all of us.” He left his place behind the desk and joined his family in front of the fire. Sansa picked a chair close to the flickering flames, while Arya just plopped down on the floor next to Jon. Their mother, Catelyn, followed them into the room. She closed the door behind her but remained standing, restless.

“I received a missive from King’s Landing a while ago,” Ned started, “Summer is coming to a close and the King has called for the traditional Autumn celebrations. They will be held in the Westerlands. Tywin Lannister has offered to be the gracious host and I assume Casterly Rock is being prepared for the festivities as we speak. All the great houses have been invited and Robert, our King, will be there with the royal family.” Ned fell silent and stared into the flames.

Robb's gaze flickered to his siblings. When no one made an attempt to speak, he cleared his throat. “Are we going, father? Winter will reach us first of all kingdoms. It can’t be long now.”  

Ned looked at him, the pride for his oldest son plain to see. “You are right and I don’t like leaving Winterfell. Our place is in the North, especially now that winter is coming. However, I fear we must go. The King will expect us, so will the lords and the families of the other great houses. It is a good idea to strengthen bonds and make new alliances before winter. We never know when we’ll need them.” He looked to Catelyn. “Your mother and I decided that you would be joining me for the journey. She will remain here to oversee the preparations for winter. The Lord of Winterfell and his oldest children will make a good enough showing to satisfy our King and the southern lords.”

Sansa leaned forward in her seat: “We are to join you for a celebration in the south? Will there be bards, oh, and knights and tourneys?” Ned smiled at her eagerness. “I thought you would like that. Yes, I am sure the festival will draw its fair share of knights. And as I know Robert, there will be a tourney large enough to attract every fighter, archer, and hedge knight in Westeros.”

Arya didn’t share Sansa’s enthusiasm. She didn’t want to watch knights and archers, she’d rather improve her own skills. Just yesterday, Jon had promised to take her to the lists more often. In winter, he said, he would have more time to work on her swordsmanship. She couldn’t see that happening in the south.  

Sullenly, she said, “What use do we have for a tourney? There are no knights in the North.” Before her father could respond Catelyn joined the conversation.

“You are not going for the tourney. Robb is there to support your father. You and Sansa are going to be introduced in court. It is an ideal opportunity for you to meet the other great families. Besides, the festival will allow you to learn the customs of the south and pick up some polish. A bit of refinement will help you once you are leading your own household. After all, it will soon be time for the two of you to marry. Maybe a good match will present itself during the festival.” Now, Catelyn’s face brightened, the worry over the journey briefly eclipsed by its possibilities.

To Arya, that was a horrible thought. She wanted to protest when she caught Jon’s gaze. He smiled at her, a bit sadly, and she understood. No one had to explain why Jon would be joining them. The court wouldn’t be easy for him, as a bastard. But clearly, her mother would resent having Jon around when her own children had to leave her. For Jon’s sake, Arya swallowed her words and nodded like a good daughter.

And so Arya was packed off with the rest of them, all the way down the King’s road and up to Casterly Rock. Her only consolation was that they left the septa at home. Daughters old enough to travel south for  _refinement_  didn’t need to be accompanied by a septa. This, at least, made the travels exciting for Arya. Not a day went by where she did not ride with her father’s men, explored the forests and fields along the road or went hunting with her brothers. Now, however, the fun was over. After two weeks, the journey was coming to an end and it was finally time for Arya to be  _refined_. She couldn’t think of anything that sounded more boring.

That very moment Sansa turned away from the window and looked at her with shining eyes. “This is so exciting. Finally, our adventure is about to start.” How typical.

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	2. In The South There Be Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are meeting Sandor.

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Casterly Rock was the most hellish place during this seven-damned festival. It was nothing less than folly, with people in every crack and corner and yet more trying to join the madness. They all came: the smallfolk to gawk at the splendor and riches of the nobles, the merchants and craftsmen to grab a few crumbs off their lord’s table, and the knights, jousting men, and hedge knights to win fame and fortune in the king’s tourney. Rats, all of them.

For Sandor, the bustling of people was unbearable. Not only could he barely move about the city and the castle grounds for all the bodies crowding in it, wherever he went he felt the stares and could hear the whispers following him. _A Clegane… the one with half his face burned off… Gregor’s little brother… just as bad by the looks of him._ The people’s fear was grating on him. He was the Lannister’s dog, what interest did he have in chasing rats?

He wasn’t the most liked man at the Rock at the best of times, but with so many strangers present, his mood had soured even further. It didn’t help that there was no real work to be done. Once a day, he collected a few men and made a good showing in the streets of Lannisport to remind the people of the Lannister’s power and their liking for law and order. Most of the time, he was left to take out his frustration on the men in the training field.

All the Lannister men, at least those of no importance, as well as the stray fighters were camping and training outside the castle walls. And they were training hard. Many of the men planned to enter the king’s tourney. Bloody fools, all of them, as if the lords and knights would allow a mere man-at-arms to win. They were just here to make up the numbers and would be long gone before a Lannister or a Baratheon took to the stands.

His brother, Gregor, would enter the tourney, Sandor was sure of that. Gregor arrived at Casterly Rock several days ago. As one of Lannister’s retainers, there was no reason why he shouldn’t be here. After all, he was the head of House Clegane.  _House Clegane, what a pile of horse shit._

Maybe he should enter, too. Just for a chance to ride against his brother. More recently, he’d even won a few of the smaller competitions. Nothing that would draw too much attention, but he was big and strong and far better than the gnats the lesser tourneys managed to attract. Besides, the winnings kept him in wine.

In the evening, Sandor dressed in a simple green tunic and left his tent for the castle. The great hall was where every man of Lannister found his food and drink. Tonight, the place was crowed and noisy but he found a place on the lower benches among the enlisted men, where he usually sat.

He pulled a few dishes towards him and heaped food on his plate. Just as quickly, he grabbed a jug of wine and filled his cup. Then he lowered his head and dug in. No one here cared about his lack of table manners or about how the gravy and the wine were running out of his mouth on his bad side. He couldn’t control the muscles on that side and on some spots the flesh was burned through to his jaw and teeth. It didn’t make for a pretty sight when he was eating. It didn’t make for a pretty sight in any situation, to be honest.

After he finished two more plates of meat and bread, he refilled his cup and sat back to watch the folks around him. His brother was sitting further up, but well below the high table. Only the families of the great houses were seated with the Lannisters. By now, all the lords have arrived and only the king and the royal family were still missing. He could spot the Arryns with their sickly son, the Tyrells, the Tullys, and the Martells. Robert’s brothers were already here, seated well apart from each other. In fact, Renly was standing next to Loras Tyrell, loosely holding a cup in his hand and laughing at something the knight of flowers was saying. Sandor snorted, no surprises there.

Some of the minor houses were in attendance as well, House Frey (thankfully not with all of their sons), Hightower, Yronwood, Royce, Mormont, Karstark, and more Sandor didn’t recognize. Even a brother of the Night’s Watch was present. Probably to blather on about the dangers of the coming winter. Withered, old fools all of them but they’d probably frozen off a few vital things that far up North.

The severe man sitting next to the black brother at the very end of the table must be Lord Stark, surrounded by his brats. The bleakness of the North was written on his face. He looked to be even less amused by the feast than Sandor. Curious, Sandor knew that he brought along two sons, but only one was currently sitting to Stark’s right. The bastard must not have found enough favor in the south to sit with the rest of his family. Unsurprising that. Sandor bet he could be found sitting among the Northerners at the low tables. And he was probably having a better time for it, if the expression on the face of the dark haired girl was anything to go by.

Sandor rose from the bench. He’d had all he could take for one evening. It was time he found a quiet corner and a wine skin to empty. He left the noise and heat of too many bodies behind and walked into the night. Following a road he knew all too well, he soon reached the disreputable part of Lannisport. He was familiar with this street and he knew better than to enter one of its bright and fancy establishments. He kept walking until he was well past them. Here the street was dark and the buildings looked dingy and unwelcoming.

He opened the door to a house at the very end of the road. The room behind the door was just as shabby as one would expect. Still, the place was busier than usual, doubtless due to the great many people that had flowed into Lannisport and Casterly Rock over last few weeks. Sandor grabbed a seat in the corner furthest from the door. There were no unoccupied tables and he didn’t feel like joining any of the men already there. The tables would become available soon enough.

From the other side of the room, the bar maid gave him a quick look and started to fill a jug with Dornish Sour. They knew what to bring him. When the wine was dropped off, the girl didn’t bother with a cup. This was not a fancy place, just somewhere to sit and drink. It was a good spot, though. He was left alone and no one stared at him much. Sandor had no illusions about his looks. Half his face was all but burned off and, on top of that, his size was forbidding at best and menacing at worst. But then, many of the men in this room were not much better off. He wasn’t so bad as long as he wasn’t standing next to a Lannister cunt. Or looking at a pretty woman.

As if on cue, some of the women of the house came down the stairs. Most likely to remind the men what else was on offer besides the wine and ale. They mixed with the men in the room, sat on their laps, stroked their faces, let their dresses glide from their shoulders and, slowly, seduced them to the rooms upstairs. This scene was repeated several times during the night and well into the morning. After all, a whore’s bed was no place to linger and the women had to earn their keep. As predicted, the tables soon began to empty and Sandor moved to the one closest to his corner.

The whores left him alone. They knew he wouldn’t be interested in flirting with them or in paying for their time. He didn’t like to think about why he didn’t frequent the women in this house when the wine was good enough for him. Most men would take more than the wine. But the thought of paying a different whore every time just to have her turn her head …. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. They would service him, he was sure. They took anyone who was willing to pay. He just wasn’t. Willing, that was. And because he didn’t want to think about why not, he drank. He drank until he could barely walk, not to mention fuck.

It wasn’t that he was leading a bad life as a Lannister man. He was a long way from the boy who ran from his brother and slept in the Lannister’s stable. He learned quickly, made himself useful and most of all, he obeyed, did his duty and kept his mouth shut. First, he helped with the dogs, the kennel master’s blood, everyone said. Then he took care of the horses, kept training in the yard, watched the pretty, useless knights and swore he would be better than them.

He’d had no friends and more than enough time to do his work and improve his skills. He never became a knight but no one at Casterly Rock doubted his prowess as a fighter. The old Lord Lannister gave him more and more obligations, not caring about his ugly mug as long as he never failed in his duties. Now, he trained the men fresh to Tywin’s army, led sorties and men in battle, protected the family when necessary, and did anything else befitting a dog. Currently, he was using his reputation and mean appearance to keep order at the castle and in the streets of Lannisport. That is, when he was not one of the many drunk men on the street.  

Overall, the life at Casterly Rock was much better than any life he could have led at Clegane Keep. There had even been a girl once, almost. Sandor didn’t think about it often but sometimes, when he was drinking, he couldn’t help himself. He was younger then, not really young, maybe 18. He’d had his burn scars for most of his life by then. They never stopped weeping and always looked red and nasty. He trained and worked with the men but entertained no amiable relationships. He was mean and angry, even then, and not one to make merry and find friends. People took one look at him and left him alone.

One day, he was at the market. He couldn’t remember why he went there, but surely someone sent him. It was a hot day and he was drawing water from the fountain for Stranger. A young woman, not much older than him, approached the fountain on Stranger’s other side and almost got trampled to death for it. He pushed his horse out of the way and snarled at the girl. She was a mousy thing with a haggard face and thin hair. He told her that any peasant dumb enough to approach a warhorse belonged trampled beneath its hooves. She took one look at him and told him that any man dumb enough to take a warhorse to market belonged drowned in the fountain. Then she filled her bucket and left.

Looking back, she probably just was too tired and trodden down to care about his reaction. She was a baker’s daughter and her father had recently fallen ill. Living in Lannisport was not cheap and the family had no sons to take over the business. He watched as she left the market and started down an alley, when a man approached her. They argued and she got pushed around for a bit. When her bucket fell to the ground, Sandor grabbed Stranger’s reins and headed down the same way.

The man saw him coming and left before he got there. The girl picked up her bucket and told him to wait and keep his horse well away from the well. When she came back, she kept walking down the street and he followed. They didn’t speak much, there was no reason to. He learned that her family owed the man money. It was his right to be angry, they’d failed to pay him back.

The girl’s mother was waiting in front of their home. She, too, took one look at him, only to spin around and enter the house. They were simple people, they knew that life was not pretty and that survival could ask for desperate measures. That day, he left quickly and was gone for almost a week. Five days later, he returned and brought the girl some money as well as a bit of food. She took what was offered and didn’t thank him. She knew she’d be paying the debt soon enough.

Sandor wasn’t thinking about marriage. He wasn’t the marrying type and she was not about to spend her life with him. For now, however, her family was in desperate straits while he had a good position in the lord’s household. It wouldn’t cost him much to help her and in return she would keep him company, look at him and not send him from her bed. Not that day, though. He had duties to attend to. Instead, he made arrangements to meet her later that week.

The same evening, however, news reached Casterly Rock that his brother’s second wife had been found. The poor women had been naked, cut up from cunt to throat with her own entrails keeping her up in the tree where she was discovered. No one could prove anything and no one was stupid enough to raise accusations, at least not openly. Still, everyone knew who was behind the poor woman’s death and the story spread quickly, first in Casterly Rock and then in Lannisport.

When the time came to go back to the baker’s house, only the mother was at home. This time, she took a closer look at him and he could feel the apprehension in her gaze. The girl wasn’t home. Apparently, a distant cousin two towns over had offered for her. He was a baker, too, older than her and looking for a wife. The family was planning to leave Lannsiport as soon as possible. In the meantime, his visits were discouraged.

He left and never went back. He also never knew what happened to her and if she did, in fact, have a cousin. He only knew that Gregor kept on buggering up his life until he’d finally kill him.

It was almost morning when Sandor staggered out of the winesink. Even for his size, he’d drunk too much. The king was due to arrive in a few hours but if he was lucky, Robert, the old drunkard, was just as foxed as he and would arrive late.

#######################


	3. And There Be Princes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself, a long chapter is coming. I don’t know what came over me to be so wordy. Feel free to skip this chapter. Nothing much is happening, I’m afraid. There will be some action in the next chapter, I promise. (Of the wrong kind, though.)  
> ###########################

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The clangor of steel on armor rang loud on the field between the tents. Sandor dealt his opponent a heavy blow to his left breastplate, taking care to hit his fancy red armor full on. The man stumbled back and barely caught his step. It was almost too easy. The knights and men-at-arms rarely underestimated him now. Still, they were never ready for his strength and mistook his size for sluggishness.

The other man made ready to come at him again, the apple on his breast moving with his labored breathing. When the lunge came, Sandor was ready. He didn’t even move to counter the strike. He simply stepped out of way and, when the man came flying past, quickly kicked his stumbling feet out from under him. The man landed on the ground in a heavy sprawl. With a deft hit to his gauntlet, Sandor forced the sword from his hand. “Yield,” he rasped putting his own sword on the red knight’s neck.

Laughter washed over the two men from the edge of the training field. There stood a green knight, heaving with laughter and tears streaming down his face. His breast sported a green apple and from what Sandor knew, he was one of the Tyrell’s retainers. That would make the man at his feet a red-apple Fossoway, Sandor assumed, Ser Trenton or Ser Tanton or some such.

By now, the man in questions had gained his feet, his face as red as his armor. “You don’t fight with honor!” He sputtered with barely checked rage. “No knight would lower himself such. This was fit only for street rats.”

“Or dogs,” Sandor bared his teeth, “this dog would gladly take a bite out of you. Come, if you have the courage.” The knight didn’t take him up on the offer. Instead, he collected his sword and shattered pride and left the field, limping past the men who had stopped their own fights to watch his humiliation.

“What are you looking at, you buggering fools? Get back to the fighting or turn in your sword and armor for gowns and needles.” Sandor’s voice was rough and loud and sent the men scurrying, even the knights.

_Another friend gained, today_ , Sandor thought. It wasn’t even his fault the fight ended so badly. The other knight approached him, insisting on a good bout in plain sight of the other men. He was more than ready to oblige. Sandor had never taken the vows, but it was well known at the Rock that he had not been bested in single combat since he was a green boy. Not even by a knight, especially not by knights, these blasted fools.

Clearly, this particular fool had hoped for a different outcome. When the red knight pressed him, Sandor dropped all pretense and sent him to the dirt quicker than the other man could blink. _Useless knights, only good for killing and not even skilled at that._ He’d gladly send them to the dirt many times over, but not today. Lord Tywin would be expecting him soon, there was work for his dog. 

When he strode towards the fountain the camp was built around, he noticed a dark-haired boy following him. His brown breeches and grey tunic were too well made for him to be of the common folk. A lordling’s boy, then. A younger son probably, looking for some excitement while his father and elder brothers were busy.

After Sandor dunked his head into the cold water and came back up, the boy was still standing at the edge of the fountain square, keeping his eyes glued on him. “What do you want, boy?” Sandor showed him his meanest smile, knowing that it distorted his left side into a grotesque mask. 

“You are the one they call the Hound.” The boy’s voice was high and clear. Sandor noticed that the hair stuffed under an ugly, old cap was longer than he’d first thought. “And you are no boy. What is a girl doing amongst the fighting men? Go back to where you belong before someone takes a liking to you.”

“They say you are the best with a sword. But you didn’t use a sword, you kicked him in the leg.” Sandor took off his gauntlets and washed his hands in the cool water. “So what? Once he hits the ground he is dead meat. What does it matter whether I send him there with my sword, my feet or my bloody cock, if I can?”

The girl seemed to seriously consider that. “That is not how knights fight. Is that why you are no knight?”

“What do you know of knights, girl? Been watching them from your high chair, simpering and calf-eyed?” Sandor turned his back to the girl and knelt in front of the fountain. “Come here then,” he said over his shoulder, “loosen the straps of my armor if you know so much about knights.”

To his surprise, the girl padded closer and started fumbling with his straps. “I don’t simper at knights, I leave that to my sister. I want to be a knight.” The girl got the first strap loose and started working on the second. “I heard there is a woman knight, from Tarth. I thought I could be a woman knight, too. I have been training with a sword for almost two years now.”

Sandor rose and pulled off his breastplate and pauldron. He dropped it all next to his helmet and stripped himself off his arm and leg protection. Then, uncaring of the girl standing by, he took off his linen undershirt and washed his torso at the well. “A woman knight? When has one ever heard of such a thing. And who would teach you? Your father’s master-at-arms, perhaps? Does your father approve of your plans?”

At that, the girl’s expression turned dour. “I don’t need his approval. I would be a great knight, fighting for my house better than any man. I bet I could beat even you, then.” Sandor laughed. “Aye, maybe you could. Until you’re ready to hold a sword, I will be an old man and easy pickings.”

Just then, a young man came running around the corner of the nearest tent and careened into the square. When he saw Sandor and the girl, he stopped in his track. The man was younger than Sandor by few years and had a similar look about his hair and face as the girl. _Bloody fantastic, probably a relative come to defend the nonexistent honor of this bizarre hoyden. He will sure be happy to find her with me._ Sandor straightened and dropped his hands to his side. Depending on how high the family sat, this could spell trouble. Out loud he said, “What’s with all the boys in the fighting pits today? Did your wet nurse let you out of the nursery for the day?”

“I am no boy. My name’s Jon Snow and I am looking for my sister.” As he spoke, he walked closer to the girl and casually positioned himself between her and Sandor. “A Snow this far south? You must be the bastard of the honorable Lord Stark. The one he brought to court but keeps carefully hidden from everyone’s view.” Sandor snorted and quickly took the boy’s measure. Calling him a boy was probably unfair, he was at least 20. Overall, he was unremarkable and rather short, but he clearly resembled the lofty Ned Stark. _So much for the Stark’s much-extolled honor. In the end, he is just a man like any other._

Suddenly, in a violent and ineffective flurry of moving limbs, the girl pushed past her brother and came for him. Whether she truly planned to jump him, he’d never know. With the ease of long practice, the young man caught her by both arms and held her back. That still left her mouth free to abuse him. “Leave him alone. He is my brother and, even as a bastard, far better than any Lannister man could ever be. If I had a sword, I’d cut you in two for the insult.”

“You are one of the Stark bitches.” Sandor suddenly realized where he’d seen the girl before. “You were sitting next to your father and red-headed sister at the feast. Tell me Snow, what is your noble lady sister doing amidst the common men-at-arms?” Snow visibly bristled at Sandor’s harsh words but plainly his focus was on escaping this encounter as soon as possible with the girl unscathed. “She got lost. I merely came to bring her back to the castle.”

“Lost?” Sandor spared him an incredulous glance. “I assume she took a wrong turn on her way to a tea party? In tunic and breeches?” Snow’s cheek were coloring up while the girl just stared at him, unabashed. Sandor carried on, “You’ll want to keep her from coming back. Put a leash on her if necessary. One day, the wrong man will figure out what she’s hiding under her breeches and put her skills with a sword to a test she won’t like.”

At that, Snow only nodded curtly and, still grabbing his sister by the arms, led her from the field. Sandor watched them leave. For good measure, he called after them mockingly. “Girl, what’s with all the knights? There are no knights north of the Neck. Even if you were a man, what need do the Starks have for bloody knights?”

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“What were you thinking, Arya?” Jon was mad at her, she could tell. She sent him an innocent look through her lashes. His expression didn’t change. She hung her head. “I only wanted to see the knights fight. It’s more interesting than what Lady Karstark had planned for the day.”

“And you had to go and chat up one of the Cleganes for that?” She could see that Jon was truly worried. “Have you seen him fight? This other knight came at him as if he wanted to cleave him in two and he hardly moved, just sent the other man to the dirt like it was nothing.” Arya couldn’t help herself, she sounded just a tad admiring. “They say he is the best fighter among the Lannister men, maybe even in Westeros. Of course, he’s never fought against the kingslayer, or Barristan the Bold, or even his own brother, Gregor. Gregor is even larger than him, do you think he could beat him? Do you think I could beat him if I were a knight?”

By now, they had reached the castle gate and Jon pulled Arya to a halt. He sighed heavily and bent his head to look at the ground. “Arya,” he said slowly, “you can’t just go and seek out every knight and fighting men you ever heard of. Clegane was right, it’s dangerous. The knights sound grand in the stories and songs, but they are rough men, used to war and bloodshed. They might not take kindly to a girl traipsing after them. Worse, a woman alone in a camp full of men usually only has one job. You don’t want to be mistaken for a camp follower. They would hardly take you for a lady in these clothes.”

“But I don’t want to be a lady! I want to learn how to use a sword and then no one would dare –“

“Stop it, Arya. I will keep training with you but only if you stick with me from now on. No more wandering off on your own. If I have no time, you are to stay with Sansa and the Ladies Karstark and Hornwood, promise me.” Under Jon’s stern gaze, Arya made her promise. It was almost worth it just to see her brother smile again.

Together, they walked through the castle gate. Jon bumped her shoulders. “How did you find the courage to approach Clegane, anyways? Did you not see his face?”

“What happened to his face?” Arya asked.

“A Dragon burned it off!” Now, Jon was laughing at her.

“It did not!” Arya said indignantly. Jon lightly pulled her cap over her eyes. She had stop and push it back up before she could run after him.

“Something happened when he was boy. No one knows the story, really, and no one cares. He looks ugly and has a mean reputation. It’s better to keep your distance. You got lucky. He must have had a good meal today, already. Otherwise he would have roasted you over a fire and eaten you for breakfast.”

“He would not!” Arya exclaimed, but after all she learned today, she couldn’t be sure.

######################

Dressed in a fresh brown tunic and a simple pair of breeches, Sandor held his position in his lord’s hall, his back to the wall, sword at his hip and eyes on the men in the room. It appeared to be a peaceful discussion about the upcoming winter, each house seemingly assured that it would be a short one and, at the same time, boasting about their bountiful harvest and rich stores of grain. The negotiations hadn’t begun yet, that would come later and would be a tricky time. With so many armed men at the castle, insults were heard before they were spoken, and weapons drawn long before the men sobered up. It was not unheard of for a negotiation over a few barrels of wine and salted fish to end in the death of a man or two.

The character of this meeting was less serious. As far as Sandor could tell, its purpose was purely social. The high lords were sniffing at each other like dogs at bitches in heat, testing the waters to figure out who would be a likely ally in winter, who would be able to provide the needed resources and which fool would take a daughter off one’s hand in the bargain. On top of that, the lords tried to grovel and curry favor with the newly arrived king.

King Robert sat at the head of the table, in the chair usually reserved for Tywin Lannister. He’d already started in on his fifth goblet of wine and seemed unperturbed by all this talk about winter. He laughed loudly and talked boisterously with the lords sittin closest to him. One of them was Lord Stark, Sandor noticed.

Finally, the king abruptly stood from his chair and announced that it was time he saw a prettier face than the present company had to offer. He left the room and slowly the lords followed suit.

When the last lord had left the hall, Tywin stood from his chair and took his rightful seat once more. “Clegane,” he called out, “come closer. I have a task for you.” Sandor moved to stand in front of his Lord, waiting patiently for the man to speak. Tywin didn’t look at him but kept staring at the papers on the table. “You used to protect my children when they were at Casterly Rock. Now, my nephew Joffrey is here. He is heir to the Iron Throne and it is only fitting that he has his own protection. Follow him, guard him, be his dog. He knows to expect you.” Still not looking up, he dismissed Sandor with a wave of his hand.

He went directly to the Lannister’s quarters. He found the Crown prince and his siblings in their mother’s solar. Joffrey seemed elated about his arrival. “You are to be my new dog. See how menacing he looks! With him by my side, everyone will be afraid of me.”

Sandor already felt weary. He took a good look at the boy. If it wasn’t for his royal father and lordly grandfather, no one would be afraid of such a wisp of a boy. He was 18 if he was a day and looked so slender, Sandor wondered if he could even grip a sword properly.

He was sent to guard the door and, dutifully, he took up his position. _It’s only for a few weeks_.

######################

Casterly Rock was the most magical place Sansa had ever known. Her cheeks were glowing from the wine and even more so from excitement. The feast was the most splendid yet, undoubtedly in honor of the royal family.

As has become habit, Sansa had her seat next to Lady Hornwood. “You look lovely tonight, my dear,” Lady Hornwood addressed her as soon as she was seated. “You are sure to charm a prince today.” At that, Lady Karstark turned towards them with a frown. “There is no harm in being charming, child, but don’t draw the wrong kind of attention. You are here to show the southern Lords what lovely flowers bloom in the North despite the cold. While you are a credit to House Stark, surely our ambitions must be more modest than that.” Sansa lowered her eyes and nodded demurely.

The Ladies Karstark and Hornwood were tasked by her mother to keep an eye on her daughters while they were in the South. Even if they could not bring a septa, Catelyn wouldn’t hear of sending them off on their own. Instead, the Ladies were picked as suitable companions. Of the two, Lady Hornwood was by far the more amiable. She had no daughters of her own and was always willing to accompany Sansa to any kind of amusement, while Lady Karstark kept admonishing her to be careful and proper at all times. Sansa could swear she heard her mutter once that she would rest easier if Sansa were more homely.

How that would lighten Lady Karstark’s duty, Sansa did not understand. The gods knew her sister was less pretty than her and yet she was always in trouble, even here at Casterly Rock. Often, Arya left their chamber long before Sansa rose and was not seen again until evening. In the beginning, Lady Karstark did her best to track her down and force her into a suitable dress only to discover that dragging Arya to a courtly event was no use at all. Arya simply had no interest in any of it. She would sullenly stand in a corner, staying silent during the entire affair more often than not. If she talked, it was to regale the other ladies with stories from the North, most of them involving swords, blood, and dead things found in the wolfswood. After a few failed attempts, Lady Karstark quickly realized that she was better off focusing her efforts on Sansa.

After the meal, the singers and musicians were playing and calling the guests to dance. Sansa had made her way to Margaery and was currently sitting between the handsome women and her equally handsome brother. Loras bent over her hand and kissed it lightly “How is your evening, my Queen of Love and Beauty?” Sansa giggled at his gallantry.  “You are too kind, Ser Loras, but it is your sister who is the most beautiful of all.”

“I can hardly name my own sister Queen of Love and Beauty!” Ser Loras pretended to look shocked. Again, Sansa laughed high and melodiously. “No, but I am sure the prince will ask her to dance.” She smiled at Margaery, who looked especially lovely in her rich gown of green and gold adorned with roses. Margaery smiled back and only said, “Who are we to know the workings of royal minds. I would be happy to be asked by one the handsome Lannister knights, Ser Lancel maybe. What do you think, Sansa?” Sansa nodded eagerly. It was true, the Lannisters were a handsome family, especially the queen and her children. Her brother, too, even if he was a bit old. Their presence gave the feast a golden glow.

Suddenly, Loras perked up. Sansa followed his gaze and saw Lord Renly making his way towards them. He came to a halt in front of Margaery and, offering her a deep bow. “You look lovelier than the loveliest flower tonight, Milady. I can scarcely belief that you are related to Loras. He seems more of a thistle in comparison.” It was Margaery’s turn to laugh. She stood up to kiss Lord Renly on the cheek. Then she turned to include Sansa, who sank into a deep curtesy. “Alas, I must take it back, Margaery. Here is a northern rose even lovelier than you.” Sansa felt the blush rise in her cheeks and murmured that Lord Renly was too generous.

She had just risen from her curtsey when the king himself showed up to slap Lord Renly on the shoulder. “I have been looking for you, brother. I might have known I would find you amongst a group of beautiful ladies.” Then he took a closer look at Renly’s company. “By the gods, you are Ned’s child. Who would have thought that my sour faced friend would father such a comely daughter?” The king broke out in loud laughter, while Sansa once again curtsied and deflected the compliment modestly. “What a tragedy that no one has snatched you up for a dance yet. I will send my son to redeem that. After all, he is the crown prince and should be seen with the loveliest girl.” With that, the king turned around and gestured for Joffrey to join him. He bade him to lead Sansa out for a dance and, grabbing his unwilling brother by the arm, left for the dais.

For the third time this night, Sansa curtsied. Looking up, she gave the prince her best smile. He murmured a short greeting and led her out onto the floor. He spun her into a dance Sansa didn’t know but she gladly followed his lead. Up close, he was even more attractive. “How kind of you to dance with me, my prince.” Sansa said while they moved across the floor. “You do me a great honor.” Joffrey gave her a quick look. “It was my father who picked you. I normally don’t care for dancing. It seems to me a woman’s business.” Sansa didn’t point out that dancing only worked with both, a man and a woman each. She answered with another smile instead. Round and round they spun. Joffrey talked about his horses, his sword and his new dog. He laughed when he mentioned the animal and told her she must meet him. It was a fearsome hound. Sansa listened and nodded along dutifully. To her, it was the best dance she ever had.

Too soon it was over. She hoped Prince Joffrey would ask her for another, but he only took her arm and led her away from the music. Her disappointment vanished when she realized that he was leading her towards the royal table.

“Mother,” Joffrey addressed the golden queen, “you remember Sansa Stark? Father had me dance with her.” Sansa lowered herself before the Queen. “Your grace, you do me such honor.” She remained in her bent position and hardly dared to breath. “Rise, lovely child. You look very beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you, your Grace.”

“Mother, where is my dog?” Right on cue, a fearsome man with terrible burn marks on his face appeared behind Joffrey. Instinctively, Sansa took a step back. The man looked her up and down quickly, his eyes hard and his mouth twitching. Joffrey, however, seemed delighted. “This is my new dog, Sansa. Isn’t he terrible to behold? He acts as my shield. Everyone fears him and rightly so. I wouldn’t dare tell you the things he has done.” Joffrey seemed giddy with joy over the brutal reputation of his shield. He looked at Sansa and frowned when she didn’t respond immediately. “Does he frighten you, too?”

“Yes, my prince. He is very terrifying.” This seemed to please Joffrey. “Good, he ought to be. He is guarding a future king. Now come dog, I have other plans for us tonight.” Joffrey took his leave from his mother and left the hall, his dog on his heels.

“Men are not always easy, child, such brutal creatures at heart.” The queen took a small sip of wine, fixing Sansa over the rim of her cup. “The prince’s shield is certainly a fearsome man, your grace, but the prince is so gentle and gallant.” Sansa smiled at the queen, shyly. “Yes, my dear, my son is well bred. Still, one should never forget that men can be a burden on us women. We can only hope that they behave themselves better than rabid dogs.” By now, the queen was giving her husband not so subtle looks, clearly disgusted by the serving wench he was balancing on his lap. Sansa stood next to the queen, not knowing how to respond. Finally, the queen seemed to remember her and sent her off with an impatient hand. Undoubtedly, she thought Sansa a simple and naïve girl, lacking in wit and worldly experience. However, that was not how Sansa saw it. All she could think of was how the prince and the queen took note of her. The world was perfect and her future suddenly seemed so bright, brighter than it ever had in Winterfell.

######################


	4. Everything Goes South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dark chapter for both Sansa and Sandor, but especially Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING & SPOILER  
> This chapter is really harsh on Sansa. I did not spare her. Feel free to skip, you can always pick up the story in the next chapter. If you read it, please feel free to criticize: existence, execution, anything really. I promise this will be the low point. We're due for our favorite couple in the next chapter, I think.  
> ####################################

The king’s tourney was as grand an affair as any ever held at Casterly Rock. Three days had been filled with archery competitions, jousting and even a melee. Sansa hadn’t missed a moment of it. In fact, she still sat in her seat amongst the other nobles awaiting the final joust. The sun hung low on the sky, it’s golden glow blinding her even under the awning.

If truth be told, she’ll be glad when it is done. It had been a magnificent event, truly, just as she always imagined. However, all the brave and comely knights had already been driven out. By the queen’s request, the crown prince only joined the archery competition and didn’t distinguish himself there. Lord Renly lost his joust against Sandor Clegane and so did Jamie Lannister, the queen’s brother. Lord Beric Dondarrion was defeated by a red priest and Ser Gregor Clegane ousted Ser Loras Tyrell who had looked so beautiful just moments before in his trappings of flowers.

The final tilt was between the two brothers, Ser Gregor and the Hound. Frankly, Sansa didn’t care to see it. The Hound wasn’t even a knight and Ser Gregor was terrifying on his ill-mannered steed, especially when he had killed that knight from the vale with one thrust of his lance. The blood had been all over the tourney field and the man fell like a sack of grain from his thrashing horse. It would have been much better for Lord Renly or Ser Loras to win the king’s prize.

The crowd around the field started pushing and yelling when Ser Gregor came riding into the lists, his black horse prancing and fighting the bit. He looked every bit as monstrous as Sansa expected. Everyone was waiting for the Hound to appear on the other side of the field, but nothing happened. The sun slowly crept towards the horizon and was about to kiss the earth, but Sandor Clegane still hadn’t shown up.

“Why is he not here, father?” Sansa was confused. There was to be a feast after the tourney and the people were getting restless. “I don’t know, this is unusual.” She could see her father frowning, his head turned towards the king.

“I know the Hound will win.” Arya was biting into an apple next to Sansa. For once, she looked awake and content to follow the tourney from the dais.

“Why do you think that?”

“Have you seen him fight? They say he is the most dangerous fighter in Westeros.” That took Sansa by surprise. “How would you know that? He is no knight, while his brother-“

“So what if he’s no knight? We have no knights in the North and Northmen are still the best fighters!”

“Hush, girls, something is going on.” Sansa followed her father’s gaze and saw a blond boy standing next to the king, whispering in his ear. Not a boy, Sansa realized, one of the king’s squires.

“Are you sure?”, the king’s voice was loud enough to carry to their seats. When the squire nodded, the king started laughing so hard he almost fell out of his chair. “Drunk as a dog, he says.” Now, the king was hooting and slapping his thighs. Half the sun had vanished behind the land before the king was ready to address the court.

“Help me up, boy!”, grabbing the boy’s shoulder the king hauled himself from his chair. “It looks like Joffrey’s dog drank more than a dozen Dornishmen after crossing the harsh desert. He is not fit to sit a horse. The victory goes to Ser Gregor Clegane!”

Ser Gregor swang from his horse and ripped off his helmet. He left horse and helmet to his squire and strode to the dais to receive his prize.

Meanwhile, Lord Renly was making his displeasure known, loudly. “This is an insult. A disgrace!”

“Nonsense. You can’t blame a man for having a thirst on a day like this.” _Of course the king would be jovial about this, he is a drunkard himself._ Sansa’s opinion on the matter was less gracious.

“Drunk like a common sailor, at his king’s own tourney! And him the crown prince’s shield no less. “ _And Lord Renly is probably still bitter about losing his seat against the Hound._

King Robert had stopped laughing and was now yelling at his brother with a red face. “Be silent, Renly. Clegane is not guarding Joffrey today, he can drink as much as he wants. Like as not he left his brother the victory on purpose. He is the younger brother, after all, and the honor for House Clegane should go to the elder. You’d do well to learn from his example.” That ended the matter, and the tourney.

############################################

 _Drunk as a dog, damn me_. Sandor laughed roughly and shook his head. It didn’t improve his vision, or his balance. _Where the hell is my…._ He spotted his sword at the other side of the tent and staggered over. For a while he struggled with the sword belt before he gave up and flung the blade to the ground with a roar. Then he winced. _Too buggering loud, you sorry dog. Where did you want to go anyways?_

The feast. There was a feast taking place and Sandor wanted more wine. He’d emptied his last skin more than an hour ago. Damn if he knew where the time went.

He was swaying dangerously as he made his way out of his tent. Once outside, he grabbed a tentpole to keep himself from toppling. _Buggering shit, how much did you drink?_ He couldn’t remember. He only remembered that he was supposed to meet Gregor on the jousting field, and then…, then….

Well, evidently that didn’t happen. It was full dark and the tourney would have ended hours ago. _You worthless dog._ Sandor rubbed his face with one hand, the other keeping him upright against the pole. Nothing for it now but to keep drinking.

Carefully he picked his way across the camp. His gait was unsteady and every now and then he grabbed a bush or a tent for balance.

The feast was held at the riverside, but Sandor had no interest in joining the revels. He grabbed a wineskin from the first table and withdrew from the light. He stumbled towards the castle and found a seat on a stone halfway to the castle gate. There he sat and drank.

People walked past him on their way to the castle. Most didn’t see him, but a group of young women accompanied by a septa did. They took a few sidelong looks at him and he heard them giggle and whisper. _Let them stare, let them whisper._

They were likely talking about his absence at the tourney. The castle will hardly have missed that he drank himself into a stupor instead of facing his brother in the lists. _Laughing at the drunk dog, all of them._ Sandor snorted. He lifted the wineskin but found it already empty. Annoyed he tossed it away.

 _Damn you, Gregor, and damn me!_ Sandor didn’t want to face his brother in the lists. He wanted a chance to bugger him on his sword. His own brother, his own brother who pressed his face into the coals when he was just old enough to remember.

Sandor was breathing hard, the world around him turning and his head pounding. Gods, could he kill his own brother? Not for his face, not even for their father. That old fool had always protected his heir. Served the old man right to die by Gregor’s hand. But his sister, his sweet sister….

Sandor’s face was wet. He wiped his good side with a hand and felt the water on his cheeks. After all this time, still.

Sweet Lenora. She held him and gave him soft kisses, even after he was burned. She loved him, loved her little brother, and he knew and believed it as only a small boy could. As a lad he was forever running and hiding from Gregor but Lenora always found him. She would comfort him, protect him, and sing to him. He never saw her sing to Gregor, or kiss him.

The day he found her in the woods was the worst day of his life. Worse than the day Gregor burned him or the day he inherited the keep. Her body lay half hidden in the underbrush, naked and broken. The dress she’d worn that morning mere rags on the ground.

Even as a boy he understood what had happened to her. Her body was torn so gruesomely, it was hard to mistake. But what killed her was her broken neck. Her head was twisted unnaturally, her face turned to the earth while her ravaged front was bared for the gods to see.

For three days he slept next to her. Without a shovel it took three days to dig a grave and another day to fill it above her. He didn’t know what to say when he buried her, he never learned the proper words. So he said nothing, didn’t even cry. He’d felt so empty after these three days next to her corpse.

He still felt empty. Empty except for the rage he had for Gregor. _You bloody fool! You could have faced him today in the lists, taken him from his horse, have Stranger trample him._ Instead he ran and hid from Gregor once more, like a boy.

Sandor struggled to his feet. He had to leave before someone found the prince’s dog sobbing like a milk maid. He half walked, half crawled from his stone and followed the path to the castle.  When he reached the foot of the outer tower, he stumbled to a stop. _Bugger, ‘m supposed to look for a tent._

He was just about to turn, when he heard a noise. Someone screamed, or maybe it was just Lenora screaming in his head. He’d drunk too much. Worse, he’d thought about the past. No wonder his brain was addled.

No. Sandor turned his head lightly. There was the sound again. He twisted back towards the tower, the sudden movement making him stagger, arms flailing. He tried to catch his balance and for a moment he thought he might win. Then the earth gave under his foot and he tumbled head-first into the ditch between road and tower.

It wasn’t very deep but for a drunken man his size there was no getting out. And this was how the Hound spent the night he could have been the king’s champion.

############################################

The night was dark. She hadn’t expected it to be quite so dark when she set out for the castle. The banquet had been lively and the torches had burned bright enough to banish the dark shadows of the night.

Joffrey had asked her to sit with him during the meal. He’d been courteous and offered her the choicest pieces of every course. He’d smiled at her and told her stories from the capital. His attention had warmed her even more than the fires and candles around her. She’d been so enchanted, she hardly noticed that night was falling.

Then, there had been some altercation at the royal table. King Robert got into a fight with his queen and his words turned ugly. When the queen stormed off, Joffrey made his excuses and left Sansa alone in her seat.

The magic of the night had fled with the prince. For the first time, Sansa noticed how late it had grown. Only few people remained and she couldn’t see her father or Robb among them. Only the gods knew what Arya was doing. Or the Ladies Karstark and Hornwood for that matter.

It was merely a small oversight, Sansa had told herself. Her prince simply hadn’t known that she would require an escort. Perhaps, she didn’t, not really. The walk to the castle hadn’t seemed very far and she’d walked it before.

Now, Sansa regretted leaving the feast alone. The world around her was pitch black as she stumbled down the path that led towards the castle gate. The moon was hiding behind the clouds and she didn’t think to bring a latern. The darkness made her uneasy. _Foolish girl, to be afraid of the dark._

Sansa sighed. Her family’s chambers were in the outer rooms of Casterly Rock. If she could find the smaller gate used by the guards, she’d have a quicker way and more light besides. Surely, tonight it would be open.

She almost walked into the ditch at the outer tower before she noticed the path bending along the castle walls. Her mood lifted. The gate had to be close by.

There. In a few strides, Sansa was at the door. Relieved to find it open, she slipped through. The passageway was dimly lit. Not many people would be walking it tonight. Still, it was better than the night outside. She set off towards the left, determined to find her way even if she’d not been here before.

The first turn brought her up short. Surely, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. She’d have to come across the courtyard or a familiar hall at some point. She knew she was going in the right direction.

In the distance, she heard the faint sound of a closing door. For a moment, the passage was utterly silent. Then, there were quiet steps moving down the corridor. Her uneasiness returned. A cold shiver was running down her spine and her heart picked up its beat.

Quickly, she took the left turn and kept a brisk pace. The steps came closer, moving faster than her. Surely it was someone from the feast, another noble returning to his rooms or a patrolling guard. She tried to calm herself. There was no reason to be nervous, no reason for her blood to run cold.

Then she heard it. A faint clink-clank that accompanied every step. Spurs. The man was wearing spurs. A knight, for sure, maybe one she met before. Sansa’s breath rushed out of her, leaving her shaky and feeling foolish. Finally, an escort arrived and she almost ran away because she was jumping at shadows.

She sought out one of the few torches on the wall and faced the approaching man. His face was shrouded in shadows. The light was not good enough to make out his features but at least she could tell that his form was slender and his hair fair. _Golden hair. He is one of the Lannister knights. Surely, he knows his way around the Lannister’s own castle._

 “I beg your pardon, Ser. It seems I’ve gotten lost. Would you be so kind and guide me to the courtyard?” The man didn’t respond immediately but kept approaching. “My apologies, good Ser, I’m sure we have met. But I don’t recognize you in this light.” He kept his silence. _Surely, he has not taken offense…_

Instead of stepping into the light, he kept to the shadows. He moved his arm, but not to offer it to her, more like…he wanted to grab her.  Sansa stumbled back. Something was wrong, so very wrong. Her fear came back with a vengeance. On instinct, she turned and started running.

This time he moved faster. She felt hands seizing her around the waist and pulling her back. She struggled against his grip but she was only kicking air, her fingers ineffectively clawing at his hands.

“No. NO! Let me go. LET ME GO!” He didn’t let got. She could feel his breath on her neck, he was so close. His arms were wrapped around her, hard and ungiving like steel, as he dragged her away from the torch light into the shadows.

She was sobbing now, tears running down her face. She didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. This was wrong, so wrong. The man pushed her into the wall, putting his weight on her back, keeping her in place.

“Let me go.” Sansa voice was quieter now. She was sobbing so hard she could barely breath. “Please, Ser. I… I am Sansa Stark. I am… Let go. Please.” He hit her hard and her head slammed into the rough wall. For a moment she felt dazed.

When the world came back into focus, she tasted blood in her mouth and felt hands on her skirts. The man was pushing and tearing at her dress, still pressing her against the wall. Realization made her body grow cold. **_Nononononono…what is he doing…he is not supposed…_**

Sansa wanted to scream, she wanted to yell and fight and call for help but her body just froze. She couldn’t move, couldn’t talk. She could only feel as strange hands rip her skirts open and cold air touched her legs, buttocks, and lower back. **_Oh gods. please help me, please, please._**

Hands pushing her legs apart. **_No. Please no._** Cruel hands grabbing her between her thighs. **_Oh gods_ , _why am I not moving? Why am I not doing anything?_** One hand pushing her face into the wall while another unlaced behind her. **_No, not me, NOT ME!_** Her body would not obey. **Please, please, anyone…HELP! NO!** She was screaming but there was no sound.

Harsh breathing in her neck. And between her legs, pushing. Something. Him.

And she, locked inside her body. Like in a cage.

Push. Pain. Blood. She felt him. Tearing. Moving. It wasn’t her body. But she felt him.

Sobbing and crying and terrified and trembling and frozen. And silent. A silent witness to her own violation. **_I can’t, this can’t be true…please… can’t …_** An endless echo in her head.

It hurt. It hurt so terribly. And she was so scared. And it lasted forever.

Then he was done. She felt that too.

He left, just dropped her where she stood.

She still didn’t move. Just lay on the floor. Silent. Frozen.

Winter came early for Sansa Stark.

##############################################

The winds were cold and they were far from Winterfell. Staying his mount, Ned looked at the small group of people and horses trudging up the King’s road. They’d looked so much stronger when they came down the same way. The carriage came into view and his chest grew tight. He wished Cat was here. _Cat would know what to do._ He kept hoping for a way out but deep down he knew there was only one thing left to do.

A young guard fresh to the watch had found her in the early morning hours. He informed his captain, who called for the maester, who informed Lord Tywin, who finally sent for him. By the time the sun was up, the tale had spread through the entire castle.

Sansa, his poor girl. He hadn’t even known she wasn’t returned from the feast. He relied on the Lady Karstark for such matters. They found him asleep when they came to fetch him, after they’d already summoned half the castle it appeared.

When Sansa saw him, she started sobbing. All he could do was hold her. He didn’t ask what happened, it was clear enough. His daughter was found in the middle of the night and was now wearing a simple shift sitting in a maester’s room.

He took her back to the family chambers and watched her fall asleep. Then he called for the Ladies Karstark and Hornwood. They were most distraught, to be sure, but had no explanation. He let them know in no uncertain terms that he would have one, and soon.

The Ladies never left Sansa’s side after that. Once she woke, they sent for Ned immediately. The women were fluttering around Sansa relentlessly, handing her tea, giving her food, taking it from her when she had no appetite, stroking her back, combing her hair. Any other time, Sansa would have enjoyed the attention.

Finally, Lady Hornwood urged her to tell them _exactly_ what happened. “I know it is hard, child, but we need to know what was done to you. The entire castle is already talking. We will protect you as best as we can but for that we need to know.”

Sansa’s eyes were on the floor and she told the tale in a halting voice. Left at the feast with no escort. Her trying to take the watchmen’s corridor. And a Lannister knight finding her there. She would have left it at that, and Ned wished they could, but Lady Karstark pressed for details. “What did he do? Sansa, you need to remember. Did he breach you? Did he _spill_?” She was crying now. It was hard on her, he could see. Ned sat on the bed and pulled her close. “Sweet child, Sansa, my sweet daughter. It will be alright. This was a foolish thing, but it will be alright.”

Once the tale was out, Lady Hornwood gave the other woman a meaningful look. Lady Karstark glanced at Ned. “Not all is lost, my lord. I will ask for the maester’s help. If we act quickly, we can prevent the worst.”

Ned left Sansa’s care to the women. This was not something he had any knowledge in. Instead, he went to the castellan and asked for an audience with Lord Tywin. The Lord received him, grudgingly.

“A terrible thing, Lord Stark. I trust your daughter is feeling better.”

“She is being cared for right now. She told an interesting tale.”

“The same tale as many girls before her, I imagine.” Lord Tywin’s cold voice grated on Ned. A noble man’s daughter had been raped under his roof. The man ought to be more concerned.

“No, not quite the same story, I’d say. Or do Lannister knights often rape noble maidens in their own lord’s halls?” That got him a raised eyebrow.

“She was able to identify the man, then?”

“She knows it was a knight, and a Lannister by his hair and body. She didn’t see his face and he never spoke.”

Lord Lannister’s gaze was as cold as his voice.  “Hardly enough proof to make accusations, Lord Stark. She was confused and didn’t see clearly, didn’t even see his face.”

“I’m afraid my daughter remembers well enough. She said it was a Lannister, she just doesn’t know which one. It is your castle, your hospitality. Find me the man, I want justice.” The words were bitter on Ned’s tongue. Even justice would not undo the wrong.

“And how? It is a difficult thing to recognize a man by his hair and build. A man like the Hound, perhaps, or the Mountain, but then she would be dead and spreading no tales. A Lannister knight? There are twenty or more.” Clearly, Lord Tywin didn’t think much of his daughter’s claims.

“Then find me the twenty. Sansa might be able to recognize the guilty one.”

“A girl’s word against the Lannister name! I can’t round up every man in the castle whenever a woman finds herself wronged. Must I remind you, Lord Stark, that your daughter should not have been there in the first place. Your daughter’s honor is your responsibility. Take her home. Find her a husband. That’s the best you can do for her.” For Lord Tywin, the matter was dealt with.

There was no reason to remain at Casterly Rock. The festival had turned sour for the Northmen, knowing what they did and hearing the talk in the castle. He didn’t want to press Sansa, but nothing good came from being in the South. The Starks belonged in the North and the sooner they were back, the better for all.

It took a week for Sansa to recover and for Ned to assemble the household. They left without taking their leave from Lord Tywin. Nothing good would come of that. Now, they were slowly making their way back home, a solemn column of men in furs and leather and his daughters in the carriage. And still two weeks to Winterfell.

######################################


	5. Give Her a Dog Instead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding.

Sansa’s hair glistened in the candle light like spun fire. Catelyn had dismissed the hand maiden, content to brush her daughter’s hair herself. Sansa still looked pale, more than usual, but her appetite had returned and she had resumed her duties as the daughter of Winterfell.

 _“_ You look very pretty, Sansa.” Their eyes met in the looking glass, and Sansa gave her mother a weak smile. _Not as she was before, my sweet child. How much of it are the broken dreams and how much her broken body?_

Catelyn would have wept for her, but weeping wouldn’t help Sansa now. Instead, she’d made her anger and displeasure with Lady Karstark and Lady Hornwood known. They were supposed to keep her daughters safe and they’d failed in the most horrid way. 

“Will pretty be enough to gain my husband’s love, mother?” Sansa didn’t sound as hopeful as she might have four moons ago. “He would be a fool not to love you.” Catelyn wanted to reassure her but she knew that much depended on the boy. _If he resents the marriage, he could make life hard for her._

Lady Hornwood’s only son was betrothed but the Karstarks had four sons and only one of them already married. Under different circumstances, a wedding to Sansa Stark would have been a great honor for House Karstark, a honor that would not have fallen to the youngest son. Now, however, the arrangements were made quickly and quietly, the Karstarks acquiescing out of shame and guilt more than anything else. It wasn’t the grand match Sansa used to dream of but it was better than nothing.

“It will be a beautiful wedding, awash with the colors of fall, you’ll see. And you bring the Karstarks many fine gifts, they will welcome you warmly.” Catelyn hoped it was true. “And soon you will have a family of your own. It’s what you always wanted.” Sansa blushed and turned her face away, suddenly hesitant and downcast.

“Don’t be afraid, child, a husband will be very different. I heard the Karstark’s son is gentle and true.”

“It’s not that mother. I just fear that maybe… Maybe my body never recovered from…what happened.”

“What do you mean, Sansa?”

“I have felt weak ever since. Sometimes I am nauseous and hardly able to get up in the morning. What if I am not strong enough to give my husband sons?” Sansa was plucking at her dress with restless fingers, still not looking at her mother.

“I am sure there is no reason for concern. You are young and strong.”

Finally, Sansa raised her eyes. “It’s just that I worry, mother. I haven’t had… that is, a fertile woman flowers red once every moon and I … I don’t anymore. I haven’t had my blood since before the tourney.”

Catelyn froze mid-brush. _No. Gods, how can you be so cruel? Please spare my girl at least that much._  

######################################

“Lord Stark, you know us to be the most loyal of your banners. We would have gladly taken your daughter as our own but you must know that a babe in her belly makes this impossible.” Lord Karstark didn’t meet his liege’s eyes when he spoke, but Ned felt the aversion behind the words strongly enough.

Lord and Lady Karstark had arrived the evening before with their youngest son, Harald. The visit had been arranged to finalize the marriage contract and to introduce the two betrotheds. Instead, they were back to negotiating whether there will be a marriage at all.

“It is not ideal, I grant you that. Nevertheless, this is no fault of Sansa’s. You gain a noble and accomplished wife for your son.” Ned expected this discussion to be lengthy. He hoped the Karstarks would settle for better conditions in the end, more grain for the coming winter most likely. _Gods help me, I am buying their son for my daughter._

Just last night Cat besought him not to let the Karstarks know about Sansa’s pregnancy until it was too late. A woman was never forgiven for conceiving a child on the wrong side of the blanket. Cat had begged him to protect their girl. If the Karstarks withdrew their offer, she faced the fate of an unmarried mother. Yet, Ned’s honor would not allow him to keep quiet. He trusted that Lord Karstark would listen to reason.

“It is not your daughter’s fault, that is true. The girl was dreadfully wronged, but no father wants for his son a wife with a child already growing inside.”

They were sitting in the family solar to remind the Karstarks that they would soon be one blood. Right now, however, the atmosphere was less than brotherly. The Karstarks were clearly reluctant and whenever he sought Cat’s gaze, her eyes were full of reproach.

“As I remember, it was Lady Karstark who brought Sansa the moon tea. You said it would prevent the worst. I left her to your care.”

To her credit, Lady Karstark did not diminish her role in the events. “It is true, my lord, that the moon tea did not do its work. For a week, Lady Sansa was so unwell she hardly kept anything down. We gave her the tea twice a day but it must have been flushed from her body.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know what else we could have done. Sometimes, the planted seed is too strong.”

“Be that as it may, I would have my daughter wed before the babe arrives. It will make it easier on her.” Ned gave the Karstarks his lordliest look. “Surely, if you agreed to the match before, there is a way to find agreement again. We would be happy to have the child at Winterfell as soon as it is old enough. In the meantime, there must be something that can compensate you for the additional burden of a child.”

The offer made Lord Karstark’s face turn blotchy with anger. “By my honor, Lord Stark, I am not selling you my son. We grieve for you and your daughter, truly we do, but we will not accept a Lannister bastard born to our son’s wife. Neither will any of the other Northern lords. Find a husband in the south for her, they have a better liking for the lion’s blood.” After that, there was no reasoning with him. He was a Northman after all, proud and unbending, and Ned should have remembered that.

The Karstarks took their leave soon after, leaving Ned to Cat’s anger. She was glaring daggers at him, her lips pressed to a hard line. “I am sorry Cat, but they would have learned the truth sooner or later.”

“Later would have been better. After the wedding would have been best.”

“She would have been trapped with an unhappy husband and a family blaming her for things that aren’t her fault. How is that better?”

“Even an unwilling husband is better than no husband for a girl in her situation. If she brings forth the child while still unwed, she will never find a husband. She will remain at Winterfell her entire life, no longer welcome at the festivities and social events she loves so much.” Cat looked at him like she thought him the biggest fool. “And what is to become of Arya then? With an older sister unwed her prospects will be affected as well.” Cat’s eyes turned pleading. “Ned, the rules that govern the affairs of women are strict. If you want to help your daughters, you need to find Sansa a husband.”

“I will.” Ned looked pensively. “Karstark was right. It will be easier to find her a husband in the south. Half of his objection was the blood of the child. Lannisters are more beloved south of the Neck.”

“We have no friends in the South. What reasons do the southern lords have to aid us now?”

Ned gave her a tired smile. “I will ask Robert to give them a reason, for the love he bears me and for the memory of poor Lyanna. This time, the story will end differently.”

####################################

“You’ve set me no easy task, Lord Stark.”

Ned had sat in this very audience chamber just three turns ago. Over the course of a few months, he’d traveled south more often than in all his previous years combined. He didn’t like it, but he’d had no choice.

After receiving King Robert’s answer, they took to the road immediately and rode hard for Casterly Rock, just him and Sansa and ten of his best men. They arrived last night, after a journey of just twelve days, carrying a royal order even Lord Tywin could not refuse.

Robert had been full of regret over what had happened at his tourney. He wrote that he had been considering a marriage between their children, Sansa and Joffrey perhaps, or Arya and Tommen. That was beyond debate now, but he promised that he would do anything in his power to aid Ned’s daughter. That’s to say, he browbeat Lord Tywin into finding Sansa a suitable husband. Lord Tywin appeared less than pleased that the task had fallen to him. Nevertheless, he received Ned early in the morning.

“Your daughter is no longer a maiden and carrying a bastard to boot. Did you think I would find willing men aplenty?”

“She carries a Lannister child. Surely, one of your lords is eager to curry favor with his liege.”

“So your daughter says but there is no proof. Obviously, our dear King Robert believes your tale. That doesn’t mean that my lords do as well.” Lord Tywin had invited Ned to break his fast with him. So far, Ned hadn’t eaten much, the discussion at hand was upsetting his stomach. Lord Tywin had no such compunctions. He was eating a hearty breakfast of fresh bread, cold meat, boiled eggs, and fried fish.

“She is still a high-born maiden and a very accomplished one at that. One of your lower lords should be honored to receive her as a wife for his son.” Ned was growing tired of haggling over the price of other lords’ younger sons. Sansa deserved so much more. _Soon, she shall have a husband at least. Lord Tywin will not dare to deny us._

“You forget that winter is coming, Lord Stark. A bitter irony, for sure, isn’t it the words of your house that have been warning us forever? In autumn, families are less inclined to have their sons marry. It brings an additional mouth to feed and unwanted responsibilities towards the woman’s family. On top of that, it’s not just your daughter, it’s a bastard in the bargain.” Lord Tywin’s voice was devoid of any inflection and his face entirely expressionless. Ned bristled under the hard words but the other man was right, the circumstances could hardly have been worse.

Lord Tywin continued, “King Robert sent us a raven a week ago. I’ve had enough time to weight all possibilities. House Lefford has no sons and the sons of House Swyft are already married. Marbrand has only one son, his heir, which he refuses for this match and I can hardly fault him. The other lords have sons that are either too young or already wed, with the exception of Ser Amory Lorch who is betrothed. I would give you my own son, Tyrion, but he had a sudden desire to visit the wall. As you see, your options are limited.”

“Is there no suitable man in all the Westerlands?” Ned gave him an incredulous look.

“I found someone. He might not be to your taste but under the circumstances he is all you can expect. Think carefully before you refuse.” Lord Tywin wiped his fingers on a napkin and rang for a servant. A young boy came running in and bowed to Lord Tywin. “Send him in.” Tywin dismissed the servant with a flick of his wrist.

The door had barely closed behind the boy when it opened again and a large man strode in, wearing armor and a sword at his hip. He came to stand before his lord, less than thirty feet from Ned’s own seat, and Ned recognized him straightaway. All of Westeros knew him by the scars that disfigured his face.

“You cannot mean –“

Lord Tywin interrupted him. “He is of noble birth, not quite as high as one could have hoped but fitting considering the situation.”

“The younger son of a minor house and a Clegane as well. Everyone knows what his brother has done to his wives!” Ned’s mind was racing. Formally, the match was not unthinkable and it was Tywin’s right to propose it. Nevertheless, it was a low blow.

“Your daughter will live at Casterly Rock and she has the King’s blessing besides. She will be safe enough.” Ned wanted to ask if the man would marry his own daughter to the Hound but the question was futile. Tywin’s daughter was Queen and his poor girl a deflowered woman.

“Is there truly no one else? The man is a drunkard. He missed his own joust at the king’s tourney.”

Lord Tywin was growing impatient. “What were you hoping for? A handsome knight to please your daughter? This is an arrangement out of necessity and it is generous of me to arrange it.”

Ned regarded the burnt man standing at his feet. His eyes were fixed on him and Tywin but his face gave nothing away.

“What do you think of the offer then? Do you consent?” Ned didn’t expect the man to refuse. After all, Sansa was far above him in station and any misgivings he might have about her condition were more than matched by Ned’s own reservations.

Clegane’s voice was hoarse and deep. “What offer, my Lord? In need of a new guard for your girls, are you? I warn you, I don’t make easy company for noble ladies.” _Yes, that’s what I fear._ Clegane didn’t seem bothered by it, though.

Ned turned to Tywin. “You didn’t even think to ask him first?”

Tywin shrugged the question off. “What is there to ask? A dog will do as he is bid.” Addressing Clegane he said, “As your lord I see fit that you marry Sansa Stark. I trust you will accept the honor.”

For a moment, Ned saw the shock washing over Clegane’s features, his left side twitching ugly with surprise.

“The Stark girl. The one that’s been raped at the king’s tourney. Is she only fit for the dogs now?” Clegane’s voice was even harsher than before. Shock and surprise have given way to suspicion. _Even he knows something is up._

Ned sighed. “My daughter has suffered terribly and it seems her trial is not yet done. The incident had consequences. It would ease my mind to see her wed.”

Apparently, Clegane had no love for pretty words: “She has a whelp in her belly and now you can’t find a willing fool to take her off your hands.” Clegane snorted. “She is hardly the first. I fail to see how marrying me will make her any better off. Or is it your own honor you are trying to preserve, Lord Stark?”

Lord Tywin spoke up before Ned could. “Enough! It is not up to you to question my decision. You will marry her tomorrow and the King and the Starks will be satisfied.”

For an instant, Ned thought that Clegane would refuse, was hoping for it, really.

“As you say, my lord.”

#################

Him, marrying a high-born girl, a maiden. _Well, not a maiden, that seemed to be the point, but close enough._ Sandor sat on the stone he’d spent the night of the king’s tourney on. It was as good a spot as any to be alone. This time, he wasn’t even drinking, he felt dizzy enough.

She certainly was pretty, if his memory served. She’d been making cow eyes at the Prince for most of the festival. As his dog, that had been hard to miss. He wasn’t even sure if she’d seen him at all, standing there behind Joffrey. _You’ll be in for a rude awakening, girl. It’s not the Prince you’re getting now._

Joffrey would have been a rude awakening, too, but she will never know that. Instead, she will find her husband uncommonly ugly and her station unexpectedly low. Sandor didn’t foresee a happy union. _She’ll not let me forget that I am not what she wanted._

Self-consciously, Sandor touched his scarred cheek. Once, he’d been desperate enough to pay a baker’s girl for company and now they were offering him a noble maid, not even asking for a bride price. For the world it must look as if his fortune had turned but Sandor knew better. The girl came to him pregnant and raped besides. Her beauty would be of little use to him as she’ll not let him touch her. _Women are not bedded while they are with child, wasn’t that so?_

They were marrying her to Sandor so she may have a husband’s name. Then, after a suitable amount of time has passed, they’ll take her back north. It made sense, but he didn’t like the position it left him in. A wife with all the worry and none of the pleasure.

Nonetheless, early the next morning Sandor showed up at the smallest of the castle’s septs. He was waiting with an old, jittery septon when Lord Stark finally led his bride into the room, followed by ten men dressed in Stark colors. He couldn’t see the girl’s face for the veil she was wearing, but the grey gown looked good on her graceful, womanly body.

“You didn’t bring any of your own men to your wedding?” Stark was frowning.

What a bloody fool. “I am no lord. I have no men.”

That didn’t make the other man any happier. “Surely your brother -“

“If it is my brother you want, you should have asked for him. He and I will never meet at the same wedding. ” Sandor watched Stark closely. He didn’t think the man realized just how little glory and power Sandor could lay claim to.

However, Stark seemed resigned to the facts at hand. “Very well, we might as well begin.”

The ceremony was quick and simple. Sandor didn’t have a maiden’s cloak. Instead, when the time came, he wrapped his bride in a faded yellow coat whose color didn’t quite match the ones of House Clegane. When the girl spoke her vows, her voice was just above a whisper and he could hear that she’d been crying recently. Finally, when the priest was about to conclude the ritual with the customary kiss, Sandor shut him up with a glare. The septon had the good grace to drop the matter and declare them husband and wife.

Sandor took his freshly minted wife by the elbow and was about to lead her from the sept, when Stark stepped in their way. “Jory, why don’t you take Sansa out to the yard. I’ll have a word with my son-in-law.” The two men stood motionless, facing each other and waiting until the others had left the sept.

“A bit late for demands, don’t you think?” _How much more does he want?_

“She is my daughter and you will not mistreat her or, by the gods, I will make sure you’ll regret it.”

“Do you mistake me for my brother?” Sandor bared his teeth. “She is safe enough. I have no use for her, to be honest. You may as well take her back with you.”

“Wish that I could, but the marriage was arranged by Lord Tywin and sponsored by the King himself. It will have to be a true marriage, at least for a while.” Just as Sandor suspected. At least he never had any illusions about his role in this mummer’s farce.

“Then leave her a couple of servants and a familiar lady’s maid. She’ll be comfortable enough at Casterly Rock, there’s worse places.”

“We didn’t bring anyone. I have no one I could leave her.”

“You brought her south for a wedding but didn’t think to bring a suitable marriage portion. Your motivations look more dubious by the minute, Lord Stark.”

“We were travelling light and I didn’t expect my daughter to marry quite so low. I thought her husband would provide everything she needs.”

“Aye, I will provide for her as well as can be expected, never you fear.” _All of the trouble and none of the pleasure._

#########

 


	6. The Watchdog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor, the smoothest of husbands.

#####

The chamber was modest but spacious. A large bed was pushed to the wall opposite the door and a small table stood next to it. There was a large dresser, and two chairs and a table below a window overlooking the castle gardens. Her trunk with the few possessions she brought south stood against the wall. In the entire room, there was no looking glass and, curiously, no fire was burning in the hearth. Sansa couldn’t see wood to light one either.    

She had always thought she would spend every minute of her wedding day with her new husband. Instead, she had spent the entire day with her father in the godswood, not seeing her husband once after the wedding.

Her father did his best to reassure her. “Sansa, don’t be afraid. I gave him a warning and I think he will treat you fairly. After all, King Robert himself had a hand in arranging the marriage.” Her father  promised to stay a few days to see her settled in but even that didn’t make her feel more hopeful. Her new husband was intimidating and looked downright cruel. Except for his vows, he had never spoken a word to her. She wasn’t even certain he knew her name. In addition, his face was so gruesomely disfigured, she could barely look at him.

He was better than the alternative, she knew that. She was pregnant with another man’s child and it was a blessing that he’d taken her at all. However, she still couldn’t help but think of her handsome prince or comely Ser Loras and of what could have been if not for that night.

In the evening, when her father had delivered her to her husband’s chamber, the room was empty and the Hound nowhere to be seen. “Well, don’t expect him to be the most dutiful of husbands. At least, he might leave you alone more often than not.” Her father had given her a somber look. “Be brave my child. You are a daughter of the North and you will always be welcome there. In time, you may even come back and live at Winterfell again.”

Sansa washed herself with the tepid water in the pitcher left on the dresser and changed into a simple shift. Then, she walked hesitantly to the bed. It was her husband’s bed but she didn’t see where else she could sleep. At the same time, she dreaded what would happen when he found her there. _Nothing that wouldn’t happen at some point anyways. Might as well get it over with._ Cautiously she slipped into the bed and settled down on the far side next to the wall.

Hours later, Sansa woke with a start. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she was able to make out a large shadow moving around the room. It seemed her husband had returned. Sansa sat up.

The shadow whirled around and his hands went to his hip. “Who is there?” His voice was as hoarse as it had been in the sept.

“Just me, my lord.” Sansa’s voice was thin but at least it didn’t quiver. The shadow relaxed and his hands dropped to his side.

“Why are you sitting in the dark? I might have mistaken you for someone else. Light a candle so I can see you.”

Sansa scrambled to the bedside table. Her fingers were shaking as she fumbled with the matches but finally the wick was burning. After a few moments, her husband approached the bed and peered at her in the flickering light.

“What are you doing here, girl?” He seemed a bit confused but it was hard to tell without looking at his face. Sansa kept her eyes firmly on his chest.

“I am your wife. This is where I sleep, if it pleases you, my lord.”

“I am no lord. You’ve married much lower today.”

Sansa didn’t know what he would want to hear. “You are my lord husband, I will always honor-“

“Spare me your empty curtsies. You wanted this marriage as little as I did. At least be honest with me. And look me in the face when I talk to you.” He grabbed her chin and turned her face upwards until her gaze met his burning eyes. _They are grey. He has grey eyes, just like the Starks._ She also noticed that he looked a lot less terrible in candle light.

“Tell me what you see, girl.” She saw a large man in a bad mood. She also smelled wine on his breath.

“You’ve been drinking.” She bit her tongue. It sounded more accusing that she’d intended.

“Are you nagging me already?” He laughed but it was a humorless sound. “I drank only as much as necessary to brave my own bedchamber. Now scoot over, I’ll have to sleep too.”

He blew out the candle and she heard him stripping down. The bed dipped where he settled his weight.

She lay as close to the wall as possible, stock-still and barely daring to breath. Any moment he would reach over. It was their wedding night and surely he would want –

“Why are you lying there stiff as a sword? Makes me uncomfortable to think about it. Go to sleep.” He wasn’t moving and for all she could tell he was about to fall asleep himself.

“I won’t touch you, if that’s what you fear. I leave the raping to the Lannisters and their monsters.”

_It’s not rape if it’s your wife, is it?_ And then. _And you? Aren’t you one of their monsters?_

#####

Sansa looked at herself in the small hand mirror her father left her. He had taken his men north the day before and now she was truly alone at Casterly Rock. _Well, I have a husband, I just hardly see him._

So far, her entire marriage consisted of the evening ritual they’d established on the first night. Which was to say, she only met with her husband when he arrived late at night to go to bed. They hardly spoke and she didn’t know the man at all.

Today, however, she decided it was past time she found an occupation. Thus, she put on her best dress to approach the castellan. She was scrutinizing her appearance in the looking glass when she heard a light knock on the door. She found the maester on the other side.

“Maester Creylen, how may I help you?” She remembered the man from that horrible night she spent in the healer’s rooms.

“Do let me in, Lady Sansa. I am here out of concern for your health.” Sansa stepped aside and closed the door behind him.

“Please sit, maester. Can I offer you a drink of water?” He nodded graciously. Then he sat in one of the chairs and bid her sit as well.

“How are you, Lady Sansa?”

“I am well, thank you maester.”

“No morning sickness? No spells of dizziness or sudden fainting?”

“No, I have been feeling much better as of late.”

“You are quite sure you are with child, though?” He was looking at her intently. “Such things are sometimes hard to discern for young women. You wouldn’t be the first to be mistaken.”

The question puzzled her. “Yes, I am sure. I…” Sansa paused, not wanting to be crude. In the end, however, there was no easy way to put it. “I haven’t had my moon blood since before the tourney.”

“I see.” Sansa always thought the man kind and fatherly, but now there was a speculating gleam in his eyes.  “That is an unmistakable sign, I fear, which means that by now you are well in your fourth turn. You know how long it takes for a pregnancy to conclude?”

_Does he take me for an idiot?_ “Nine turns, maester.”

“Quite right, child. Soon you’ll start to show. It will not please your new husband and neither will it please Lord Tywin or his noble retainers. A bastard is no good, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa didn’t understand. This was the point of her marriage. “I know, but now that I have a husband…“

“Surely, child, surely. However, you must see that your husband would not love you for bearing this child and the rest of the noble lords and ladies would never let you forget. Much better not to carry to term, wouldn’t you say?” The maester was nodding at her, as if willing her to agree.

“I don’t understand.”

“There are ways to prevent a pregnancy from running its usual course. It would free you from the child and you’d be able to bear your husband’s true-born sons instead.” He smiled as if he was giving her a great gift.

_If what he says is true, why did my father never speak of it? I would not have had to marry the Hound._ “I never heard of such a thing.”

“Oh, it takes a skilled maester and plenty of expensive potions, but Lord Tywin and I would want to help you in every way possible.”

Sansa’s mind was reeling. She never wished for the child, but now she’d gotten used to the thought and the child was hers, in a way. “I don’t know, maester.”

“Just think of how much easier your life and how pleased your husband would be. Certainly, you wouldn’t want to enrage the Hound?” Under the maester’s scrutiny, she felt like a misbehaving child.

Before she could respond, the door burst open so violently it hit the wall with a loud bang. In came the husband they’ve just spoken of, bringing with him the sounds of steel and fury. His face was an angry mask and he looked ready to kill. _The maester is right, I’d be an idiot to draw my husband’s ire._

Sansa shrank back in her chair but the Hound paid her no mind. It was the maester he was raging at.

“What are you doing here, old fool?”

“I only came here–“

“I know what you came here for.” The Hound grabbed the maester by the front of his tunic and lifted him out of his chair. He bared his teeth, bringing his face close.

_He is going to take a bite out of him, like a rabid dog._ “My lord, he was only here to suggest a solution–“

“You stupid girl. Did he sing you a song of how you might be rid of the whelp in your belly?” He spared her only the briefest of sneers. “It’s a whore’s operation. You are as likely to bleed out from it as not. Did he tell you that, too?” Sansa only gaped at him. “Didn’t think so.”

Now, he was shaking the maester who looked like a helpless puppet in his powerful grip. “In the future, if you find yourself concerned for my wife’s well-being, you come to me first.”

“I only followed my orders, I –“

“Aye, the Lion sent you. Just remember it’s you I will disembowel should I find you here again. If Tywin asks, tell him that I am jealously guarding my new wife, as is my right. No one gets to her but through me.” Then he strode to the open doorway and tossed the maester out. He shut the door with a slam.

Her husband was truly terrifying when he was angry and now he was rounding on her. Sansa sat meekly in her chair, her gaze safely fixed on the floor. She heard him come closer. When his boots appeared in her field of vision, she looked up, up, up, until she could see his face.

“What have you been thinking, woman?” He was glowering at her.

Sansa licked her lips. “I wasn’t … I only let him in. I…”

“You let him in? After you’ve been fucked bloody by a Lannister knight you open the door for just any man who comes knocking?”

“No, my Lord. He was the maester. I thought…” Sansa stammered. She didn’t understand his anger but she feared it.

“You don’t think enough. The people around here are all liars. Had I not arrived to save you, you’d have been walking to your own slaughter like a daft cow.”

Sansa was stupefied. No one had ever spoken to her so crassly. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

“’ _Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.’_ If you had been bleeding out on Creylen’s table would you have thanked him, too?”

“No, my lord.” Sansa was back to looking at the floor.

“Look at me, woman!”

“My name’s not woman!” Sansa was crying now. He was too much for her with his crude words and his disrespect.

“No, it isn’t. You barely _are_ a woman. You’re more like a little songbird from the summer isles, chirping your courtesies and hoping no one will eat you if you just look pretty.” Sansa gawked at him open-mouthed. _The insolence of this man!_

“Listen, little bird, the lion will eat whoever he pleases, so you better learn a few lessons and learn them fast. No one in this castle is your friend. If they offer help, send you an invitation, or appear friendly, always scrutinize their motives.

“You claim your whelp is a Lannister and as soon as it is born the truth will be there for the world to see. The maester came to you in order to save Lord Tywin from some inconvenient questions, one way or the other. Do you understand what I am saying, little bird?” He was cupping her chin again, forcing her to look him in the face.

Sansa swallowed, more scared than ever. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

“Chirp, chirp, chirp.” He let go of her. “They are the same people that married you to the lowest dog, don’t forget that.”

That night, as she lay next to him in bed, she was still scared of his ferocity. Yet, she couldn’t help but think that he’d done her a kindness. If he didn’t want her, he could have allowed the maester to do as he pleased. Either way, he would have gained freedom. He’d have been free of a bastard or free of a wife altogether. He didn’t, though, and Sansa wondered what that meant.

###########

How had she survived the last 15 or 16 years? She was too stupid to get through one day on her own without getting herself killed. _Not stupid, just innocent and ignorant, despite everything. What did they teach her in the North anyways?_

It mattered little. She was his responsibility now and he’d better do something and quick. _Some company will be good for her, too._ For two hours he’d been tracking across the city. He was good at following a scent and finally he’d found what he’d been looking for.

He swung from Stranger and led the horse towards the butcher’s shop. A man stood ready to greet him as he entered. “Are you hungry, m’lord? We have legs of lamb fresh from the grill and the best sausages in Lannisport.” He gave Sandor an amiable smile.

“I am not here for food. You are from the North, is that right?”

“That is so, m’lord. We came south five years ago and we still prepare – “ Sandor cut him off with an impatient hand.

“Where about?” The man blinked owlishly. “Beg your pardon, m’lord?”

“Where about in the North did you come from?”

“White Harbor, m’lord.”

“That will have to do. I heard you had a daughter, unmarried but fully grown.” That shut the man up quickly. He didn’t look so friendly anymore either.  “She’s not here today. We had business out of town.”

“You know who I am?” The man nodded. “Then you heard that I married Sansa Stark, Lord Stark’s eldest daughter. She needs a lady’s maid and I want someone from the North.”

“I am a butcher. I don’t see….”

“Your daughter, man. She has the right age and her origin will be a comfort to my wife. I’ll pay you well, so go fetch the girl.” The butcher didn’t look very keen but, in the end, he did as he was told.

The girl had brown hair and brown eyes and looked entirely common. She seemed older than Sansa by a few years. _That will be all for the better. Maybe this one has a good head on her shoulders._ She gave him an awkward curtsey.

“What’s your name, girl?”

“Teya, m’lord.”

“I am looking for a lady’s maid for my new wife. She’s from Winterfell and will appreciate someone familiar. Do you remember the customs of the North?”

“Some, m’lord. But I don’t know nothing about being a lady’s maid.” She looked at him like that should have been obvious.

_A bit impertinent, that’s good._ “Never mind that, you’ll learn quickly enough. You are to spend your days at the castle. Keep her company and help her with whatever it is women do all day. I pay you a stag a week. Half of the money is for keeping your wits about you and not softening your tongue around her.” He gave her a once over. “And some coppers now for a new dress. Grey, you remember the Stark colors?”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Then get ready and go to the castle as soon as you can. Tell her I sent you. If she opens the door without verifying that first, thrash her for it.”

The girl’s eyes grew wide. “M’lord?”

 “Sansa is from the North, you’ll know better than me what to make of that. She’s naïve and doesn’t understand what it means to live among lions. You do. Make sure to teach her. Look out for her and don’t be too gentle, either. What she needs are hard truths, not meek servants.

“Don’t let her go out on her own. Take her only to the good parts of the city and make note of everyone she speaks to. You tell me anything you think I ought to know and if there is trouble, come find me immediately. Can you do that, girl?”

She looked him dead in the eye. “Yes, m’lord. For that kind of money, I’d play nurse maid to your monstrous horse. Your wife will be much easier.”

######

Sansa was sitting next to the fire reading her letters. She’d sent the girl to fetch some fire wood and, for the first time, the chamber was comfortably warm and well-lit in the evening.

Teya had been a lovely surprise. She’d shown up a few days ago, claiming that Sansa’s husband had sent her. At first, she hadn’t believed her. Why would the Hound send her a lady’s maid and such a bad one at that? The girl hardly knew anything about a noble woman’s hair or dresses, but she was from the North and reminded Sansa of home.

Sansa appreciated her company, more than she ought to probably. It’s just that her days had been so lonely since her father had left. She hardly saw her husband and Casterly Rock was much quieter now that the festival was over. The noble Westermen and -women that remained at the Rock weren’t particularly fond of her. She got the impression they didn’t forgive her the accusations against one of their knights, or maybe it was the illegitimate child she carried. Either way, she got a lot less invitations than she did before that ill-fated night, almost none to be honest.

Now, at least, she had Teya to chat with, even if the girl was a bit forward and impudent. The first day, she had been particularly rude about how quickly Sansa had answered the door. _She is probably cheap, considering her lack of skills. Most likely, my husband doesn’t have the coin to spare for a better one and what would I use her for? I am not about to dine with the king again._

All told, Sansa felt much better than she did a week ago. Her husband hadn’t touched her, she had a somewhat friendly maid, and just today she got a raven from Winterfell. The maester had even had the good sense to deliver the message by way of a servant. 

It was a small piece of parchment, carrying a few words from her mother as well as a few lines from her sister. The two notes could not have been more different.

_Sansa, my sweet child, you must be strong. I know this is not the marriage you dreamed of but a woman’s wishes are rarely granted. There will always be help for you in the North. Remember: Family, Duty, Honor._

And:

_They married you to the Hound! I met him once, he is fierce and scary and big. He’ll be able to protect you, no one will touch you again. Ask him to show you how to use a sword. Ask him if he will train with me the next time we meet!_

She didn’t know what to make of Arya’s message. Her mother’s words were more helpful and she didn’t take them lightly. _I must be strong. I am a married woman. It is up to me to shape this marriage and manage the family affairs._ Her marriage would have to grow stronger or it would break when she finally gave birth. She needed to gain some of her husband’s regard. _If only I knew what he values. It’s not little birds, I know that much._

She had been waiting for a long while and the fire had burnt down to embers by the time her husband showed up. He opened the door so quietly, she missed it. She only noticed him when he came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the room, his armor clanking softly.

“Good evening, my lord.” Sansa tried a smile, but it felt a bit stiff.  

“What are you doing, woman?” He didn’t sound pleased to find her up and awake. His eyes flickered to the fire place, his body rigid.

“I’ve been reading.” Sansa clasped her hands in her lap, trying to look like a dutiful wife. “How was your day, my lord? Is there anything I may bring you?”

“What’s this, little bird? You sat up all this time just to bring me a cup of water?” He looked at her suspiciously. “You found some poison somewhere?”

“No, my lord, I’d never…” _Why would he think…._

“I can get my own water.” He strode to the dresser and poured himself a drink. He downed the water in greedy swallows, emptying the whole cup. Then he turned to face the wall and knelt. “Come over and help me out of my armor, if you want to make yourself useful.”

Sansa rose slowly and carefully made her way over to him. She was no squire and it took her a long time to loosen his straps. While she was working, Sansa tried to think of something to talk about. “Thank you for sending me Teya, my lord. I appreciate a hand maiden, even if she is a bit unusual.”

“She’s no hand maiden, she’s a butcher’s daughter.”

Sansa was taken aback. “Why would you send me a butcher’s daughter?”

“I have my reasons.” After a prolonged silence, Sansa realized that he would not elaborate on that.

She tried a different approach. “I got a letter from Winterfell, today.”

“And was your lady mother pleased with your marriage?”

Sansa settled on a neutral answer. “She wishes us well.”

The Hound laughed. It was a rough and ugly sound. “I bet she does.” Then he fell silent. Sansa waited, but he didn’t speak and the silence became unbearable. Quickly, she said, “My sister wrote me also. She mentioned you’ve met before.”

“Aye, I met her. She was wandering around the training field in men’s clothes.” The strap slipped Sansa’s finger. “She was a deal better with my armor, too.” He reached around and started working the straps himself.

_What’s that supposed to mean?_ Sansa took a step back. “I could learn if you want me to.”

He looked at her over his shoulder, the good side of his face harsh and the other horrid, as always. “I always thought it would be her that will get raped someday, considering where she was loitering about. Instead, it was you. I wonder how your father sleeps at night.”

The words blindsided her, bringing back ugly memories she’d rather forget. _And now you know that he resents you for it, too._ She took a deep breath. _You must be strong._

“I am sure he sleeps better now that he knows me married to you.”

He paused for a moment. “Stop your chirping and go to bed, little bird.” He wasn’t looking at her, facing the wall instead.

Sansa admitted defeat. Her husband had talked to her, a bit, but she couldn’t say it was an improvement.

######


	7. The Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another animal joins the family.
> 
> #####################

He knew he’d fucked up. Somehow, he’d managed to mess up his marriage in less than a fortnight. He’d warned Lord Stark that he was no easy company for genteel ladies. What business did they have giving him a wife? ~~~~

That night, he’d come back to the Rock late enough to make sure she was already asleep. It was easier that way. Instead, she’d been sitting there all pretty when he walked in. A fire had been lit in the hearth but it was all but burnt out and harmless, just powerful enough to give her hair and features a warm, golden glow. She’d been the very picture of a young and lovely maiden waiting for her love to return. She’d even smiled him.

He’d mistrusted the situation instantly. Women didn’t give him smiles, or welcoming looks, or waited up half the night just to see his face and his wife certainly had no reason to be the one to start. Something was afoot. Not that he really believed she would poison him, but there was more than one way for a woman to break a man. He’d seen many a sucker chase after shadows to please a beautiful girl, when every blind halfwit could see that he was being played with. If he was fool enough to walk into Sansa’s snare, she’d find a way to manipulate him too, and he didn’t want to learn in how many ways she could humiliate him.

Sure enough, as soon as she had seen him, she had started her chirping. He didn’t know what her game was but it couldn’t mean anything good. So, he’d been short with her, not wanting to give her any leverage. The sooner she’d learn that her pretty words and beautiful face wouldn’t move him, the better for them both.

Well, his brusque comment about her rape had shut her up good. She had stopped her chirping and whenever they happened to meet at night, she was polite but distant, speaking as little as possible. At first, he thought it was a good sign. Finally, she was coming to terms with her new life as his wife, a life that was no song. But last night he’d woken in the early morning hours, long before dawn, only to realize that it was her crying that had roused him. She’d been facing the wall, lying as far away from him as possible, her body shaking with stifled sobs. He didn’t stir, just watched her, considerate and ladylike even in her sadness.

He understood, then, that she’d stopped her chirping because she was miserable. Somehow, he was sure it was his fault. The only thing he could think of was the evening he was short with her and his gruff remark about her rape. _I shouldn’t care, everything I said was true._

Sandor sighed. Sansa was his to take care of and he couldn’t have her in tears all the time. An apology would probably make her feel better. However, that would send the wrong message, after all he hadn’t been wrong. What he needed was a way to apologize without admitting any guilt, which is to say that he had to buy her a present. Women liked trinkets, surely that would make her happy.

He’d been wandering around the market for over an hour. Lannisport and its riches attracted the best vendors from Westeros and the free cities alike. Still, it was hard to find something when he didn’t know what he was looking for. _What do little birds like? I should have sent her hand maiden_ , _what do I know about women’s fancies?_

Indecisively, he walked around the corner into a street that held the less savory offerings of mostly foreign traders. He was unlikely to find a gift for the little bird here, but he wanted a cup of Dornish Sour and an escape from the bustling market place. Holding his wine in one hand, he walked the street lost in thought, when a fat man caught his attention. He was standing next to a cage, and whatever was inside had managed to attract a small crowd. Sandor stepped closer.

“– the monster of the North. None of its kind have been seen in more than a hundred years, but now, good people, see with your own eyes the deadly beauty of these beasts. She was caught just below the Wall and –“ Sandor stopped listening to the man’s bragging and inspected the content of the cage.

Not much was left of the wolf’s deadly beauty, whatever the merchant claimed. The bitch sprawled half dead on the floor of the cage, twitching every now and then. Once, she would have been magnificent, but lack of food and care had left her emaciated and weak. _The fat fool was probably to scared of her to open the cage. Poor beast._

“– not just any wolf, a direwolf! See how large she is, see how proud and well-formed –“ That got Sandor’s attention. Direwolves were extinct or as close as, it was unlikely that the man had really been able to capture one. And yet, she was much larger than a common wolf, even in her sorry state. 

“Why would you bring a direwolf so far south?” Sandor interrupted the merchant mid-speak, tired of his relentless puffery.

“Why, for the benefit of the people of course, so they may see the wonders of the North.” He gave the crowd a solicitous smile. “Aye, but what’s in it for you? You thought someone would want to buy a wild animal?”

“She is a great beauty and beyond priceless. For all we know, she’s the only one of her kind –“ Sandor spat at his feet. “Half-dead, that’s what she is. Are you trying to sell a rabid beast in the streets of Lannisport? What do you think our Lord Tywin would say to that?”

The merchant grew pale. “Her coat, my lord, I thought someone would want to wear a fur as fine as hers. And her pup, it’s small still, but its fur is ever so soft. There is no danger in selling that.” Sandor’s eyes went back to the cage. He hadn’t noticed before but there was a small form half buried under the larger wolf. A single whelp was nestled below her teats, trying to suck milk that had dried up long ago from the looks of it.

His mind was racing. It was a wild animal, but the pup was small still. It could probably be trained well enough. Better even, it was a powerful animal and better protection than any dog. And if it really was a direwolf, it was the Starks own sigil. _It’s no trinket but it’d be useful and the little bird might even like the pup. And if it doesn’t work out, I can always put it to the knife._

“I’ll buy them.” The words were out before he could think twice about it. “What do you want for them?”

“Well, as I said they are beyond priceless –“

“I’ll give you a gold dragon.” It was a fortune for an animal that was as good as dead.

“They are worth five dragons at least, my lord.”

“Two, and I won’t report you to Lord Tywin.” The merchant looked around nervously, hands fluttering helplessly, and Sandor knew that he’d won. He paid the man and went to open the latch to fetch his prize. “You can’t mean to open the cage here! I warn you, the animal is wild and dangerous!” The merchant’s voice was close to panic, and even the gawking crowd had started to back away.

Sandor only laughed. “Scared of your own merchandise, are you?”

He knelt on the ground and pulled his dagger, holding it loosely in his right hand. Then he opened the latch and reached for the pup with his left arm. As he’d expected, the bitch lifted her head and turned her body to snap at him. Holding the dagger tight, he plunged the steel into her exposed breast, hitting her heart.

Then he grabbed the pup by the scruff of its neck and held it up for his inspection. It was a female, soft grey and no larger than both of his hands. Her eyes were open but she was weak, probably for lack of food. He nodded, satisfied with his purchase. _You’ll make her smile, sorry little mutt that you are._

He turned to leave but stopped in his tracks when something occurred to him. He turned to the merchant whose complexion had taken on a green tint. “Burn the bitch. If I find out that someone is wearing the fur of a direwolf, I’ll find you and burn you in her stead.” He didn’t wait for an answer but walked quickly towards Casterly Rock.

###########

He found Sansa in their room; only the gods knew what she was doing there all day. At least she wasn’t alone, her lady’s maid was sitting in the other chair, ignoring him in favor of fiddling with some yarn.

Sansa gave him a curt nod in greeting. When he dropped his present on the table, however, she forgot about giving him the silent treatment. “What’s this? A little dog? Where did you find it?” The whelp had started wandering around the table but stumbled over its own feet and plopped down on its hind legs. Curious, Sansa came closer.

“It’s a wolf, a direwolf the trader said, but I wouldn’t bet my money on it.” Sandor shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s the Starks’ sigil, though. I thought you might want it, to remind people of who you are. A direwolf would make anyone think twice before they threaten you or your child.”

Sansa didn’t react, her eyes fixed on the wolf pup. _Does she like it? Does she think me an idiot for bringing her a wild animal? I should have bought some silk instead, or flowers. Women like flowers._ “If you don’t care for it, I’ll kill it now.” He reached for his dagger.

“No.” She grabbed his arm before he could draw the blade, her eyes still on the whelp, seemingly unaware that she was touching him. “No. Look how small it is. You can’t kill a puppy, that would be cruel.”

“It would be merciful. It’s weak. Better to kill it now than to drag it out.”

“Then why did you bring it?”

 _Because I didn’t know what else to bring you._ “With the right care, there’s a chance it will make it.”

Sansa abruptly turned to her maid. “Teya, bring me some milk, enough to last the night.” The maid kept a healthy distance to the table and was looking at the wolf skeptically. “Seems a silly business to me, feeding a wolf until it’s large enough to eat you in turn.”

“Don’t worry about that, just bring me the milk.” The girl shrugged and made for the door. “Who am I to say how the noble folks should die? If you want to be devoured by a wolf, so be it.”

Sansa turned back to the whelp. “Come here, cutie.” She grabbed the animal and, holding it in her arms, sat back down on her chair. “Oh, it’s a female. You are really fluffy, sweet one, I think I’ll have to bathe you often.” For once, she wasn’t chirping, nor was she polite and aloof. Instead, she was chattering happily at the pup, engrossed in her new pet.

“It’s no pet. She’ll grow up to be a fierce and deadly beast. Otherwise she’ll have little use.”

Sansa ignored him, petting the whelp in her lap. “Don’t listen to him. You’re no beast, you’re perfectly lovely.” The wolf was weakly yapping at her and tapping around on her skirts. Sansa caught one paw in her hand. “Look how soft her paws are, and how large. She’ll be tripping all over them until she grows into them.”

“She’ll grow quickly. Her mother was a large bitch and within a few months, this one will be big enough to take a man’s throat out.” Sandor watched Sansa closely, but he could see no fear in her. “She’ll need proper training, or it will be too dangerous to keep her.”

“I am married to a hound. I’ll be able to handle a wolf pup just fine.” She hugged the little bundle of fur close and smiled brilliantly, at the wolf not him, but still. “I think I’ll call her Lady. She is so sweet and gentle.” A smile lit up Sansa’s face and, for an instant, she was so beautiful Sandor’s heart skipped a beat.

 _You bloody fool. Admit it, you did this just to see her smile._ Yet, he couldn’t help but be pleased with himself. _But I’ll not allow that she gives the wolf a gods-damned pet name._

 “Don’t call her that. She is supposed to be a terror to everyone and needs a frightening name. Bloodletter, perhaps or Maneater.”

“I’ll not call my wolf Bloodletter. She is a perfect little lady, and that’s her name.”

“She is a wild animal, and her job is to protect you.”

Sansa expression turned mulish. “She’s mine, that’s what she is.” Suddenly, she seemed unsure. “She is, isn’t she?” She sounded so anxious and hopeful at the same time, Sandor nodded despite himself.

“Well then, I’ll not let you name her. You named your black stallion Stranger, poor animal, stricken with such an ugly name. Only the gods know what you’d call my wolf.”

In the end, nothing would convince her and so the monster of the North, frightening beast and terror to man, was named Lady. Sandor told himself that she’d still be able to kill a man, no matter the name, but he was a bit unsettled by how quickly his wife had overruled him.

Just then, Teya returned carrying a pail of milk. Sansa sat the whelp back on the table and filled some of the milk into a bowl. Addressing her maid, she said, “Be a dear and stoke the fire before you leave, so I can reheat the milk later tonight.” The girl hurried through her task.

By now, the whelp had started whining pitifully on the table. Sansa rushed over and started stroking her fur, whispering soft words to her. _She’ll completely spoil her. It will be impossible to train her like a proper hound._ Sandor couldn’t bring himself to disapprove, though. He’d never seen the little bird so excited and buoyant.

Finally, Sansa had a bowl of warm milk and a clean piece of cloth arranged on the table. She dipped the edge of the cloth in the milk and tried to feed the pup. Smelling the milk, the whelp started wagging its tail and, turning its body restlessly, stepped into the milk. Sansa tried her best to hold her still, but only got wet paw prints on the front of her dress for her trouble.

“Could you hold her for me? She doesn’t understand the concept of feeding, it seems.” Sansa’s eyes were dark blue and pleading. For the first time, she was looking him in the face without prodding. Without a word, Sandor sat in the other chair and grasped the little wolf around its ribcage with both hands. She was scrawnier than she looked, her fur making her appear twice her size.

Sansa forced the wolf’s mouth open and fed her the milk-drenched cloth. The pup suckled greedily, not letting go even after the milk was gone. Sansa had to pull the cloth from her mouth, so she could dip it in the milk again. It took a long while to empty the bowl. The entire time, they sat next to each other, close enough to touch but careful not to. They were not looking at each other, not speaking, their focus firmly on the pup in their middle. Sansa’s cooing and caressing were all reserved for the whelp, too, but when the wolf was fed at last, Sandor was sure he was forgiven. He didn’t understand why that made him feel so relieved.

He was less happy when bedtime came around and Sansa insisted on keeping the wolf close. Now the little cur was sleeping in his bed, between him and his wife. _Only I am stupid enough to give my wife a substitute dog to cuddle._

###############

The Hound was a queer man. He left her alone, ignored her, and treated her like an unwanted afterthought, but then he’d come running when she was in trouble. He’d given her harsh words and dark looks, but also a maid and a puppy. _For protection he said,_ _but he was awfully eager to see whether I liked her._ She just couldn’t make him out and nothing she ever learned about married life seemed to apply.

 _Even more reason to figure it out_. She’d decided that she needed to renew her efforts. To that end, she had an opulent dinner brought up from the kitchen: thick soup of barley and venison, rabbit stew and fish stew with fresh bread, mashed turnips and sweetcorn on the cob, cold fruit soup, sweet cakes drenched in honey, ale, and strongwine, some milk for Lady, too. She arranged everything on their single table, made sure the fire was burning bright and warm, and sent Teya to ask her husband to join her after completing his duties.

She was sitting with Lady in her lap, waiting and fretting over dinner getting cold, when the Hound walked in wearing hauberk, sword, and a scowl. “What’s the matter, little bird? Did you find some trouble again?”

Sansa had prepared herself, for his ugly words and even uglier appearance. Taking care to look him in the face, she said mildly, “No, not at all. I thought we might dine together.”

His eyes wandered to the table, taking in its offerings. “That’s what you sent your hand maid to fetch me for? Dinner company?”

“We hardly see each other, I thought private evening meals would be nice.” She held her breath.

Hard eyes regarded her, their color a wintry grey. He gave quick dip of his chin and walked to the dresser to take off his mail and sword. Relieved, Sansa set Lady on a pillow and filled both cups to the brim with wine before she took her seat. Her husband moved his chair to the other side of the table, far from the warming flames and sat.

When he made no move to touch the food, Sansa started filling her plate with stew and broke off some of the bread. Self-consciously, she nipped at her wine. “How has your day been, my lord?”

“I am still no lord. I trained with the common men-at-arms, like every day. Lord Tywin smells trouble coming down the coast and wants us ready.”

“You must be hungry and thirsty, then. I hoped the meal would please you.”

Her husband snorted. Suddenly, he lifted his cup and drank. Sansa watched him swallow greedily, only setting the cup down after it was empty. _Not very polite, but I already knew he drank a lot._ She got up and refilled his cup while he watched with dark eyes.

“Won’t you eat, my lord? I called for the best the kitchen had to offer.”

“You’ll never learn, will you?” He sneered at her. “Well, then, let me teach you another lesson. What would you have me eat, little bird?”

“I… The rabbit stew is very good, and the soup.”

That made him laugh low and dangerously. “The soup, you say? Aye, let’s try the soup.” He poured some soup into his bowl and lifted it to his lips, but even as he swallowed, liquid started running out of the corner of his mouth, down his chin and throat.

Sansa was horrified. _This is utterly disgusting, has he no manners?_ He set the bowl back down _,_ still half full, but the soup just kept running down his face, only slowly trickling off. Sansa was openly staring, mouth agape.

“A full cup of wine, just what a thirsty man needs.” He lifted the cup to drink, setting it back down when it was only half-empty. As he did so, wine came rushing down his skin, red like blood, making his scars appear raw and even more repulsive.

Sansa had always avoided looking at his bad side, but now she couldn’t help it. His scars covered the entire length of his face. On top, they’d destroyed his hair as well as his skin. He tried to cover the worst by brushing his remaining hair sideways, but it did little to help his appearance. The scars were even worse on the bottom. She could see his jaw bone shining through the molten flesh. The corner of his mouth was burnt away, permanently baring white teeth to the world. _It’s his burn marks. The flesh is burned through. He can’t keep his food inside._ The horror was plain on Sansa’s face. She stood unmoving and stiff, her eyes fixed on the grotesque mask that was her husband’s face.

“Enjoying your dinner company, little bird?” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

Sansa’s anger flared sharp and hot. _He’s doing this on purpose. He revels in disgusting me. He could just have said…_ Said what? That he was too disfigured to share a civilized meal? Sansa slowly raised her eyes from his scars to his eyes. He was looking at her, contempt and mockery plain to see, but there was more. His bad eye was twitching and his hand on the table was clenched into a fist, trembling slightly. _He’s embarrassed. I shamed him._ The realization killed her anger.

He got up as if to leave. “I need to eat a full meal and I can’t do that with little birds watching.”

“No.” _This is my fault. If he walks away now, he’ll never forgive me. He’ll make my life a living hell for this shame._ Desperate, Sansa grabbed his sleeve. “No. We already have the food and we need to feed Lady as well. I’d rather you stay.” Working quickly, she found a clean rag in her trunk. It would be soft on his skin. She dropped it off next to his plate and pulled her chair around the corner of the table so she would sit to his right. He hadn’t moved to sit back down, but Sansa heaped food on his plate anyways, stew with bread and turnips. Determined, she refilled his cup.

She gave him a quick look, trying not show her despair, and gestured for him to sit back down. “Let’s eat, before the food gets any colder. We can take care of Lady afterwards.”

“Feeding all your canines tonight, are you?” He didn’t look convinced, but after a short hesitation, he sat on his chair and picked up a spoon. Sansa didn’t watch him eat, instead she kept up a stream of light chatter about her day and about how Lady almost fell out of the window while playing on the table. He kept his silence but he polished off the entire bowl of soup and stew and even ate more than half of the sweet cakes.

When he was done, he washed his face in the water left on the dresser. On his way back to the chair, he picked up Lady and settled her on his thigh. He tried to tickle her under her chin but she started licking his fingers instead. “Let’s get her fed then, little bird. It’s been a long day.”

#############

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last scene was inspired by this picture:
> 
>   
>    
> Sandor Clegane by Araiwein, found on DeviantArt. ©2010-2018 Araiwein


	8. Between a Dog and a Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Sansa gets the talk, twice.  
> ######################

######################

“Is he any good in bed?” Sansa stopped her rummaging, caught of guard by the question. She opened her mouth and closed it again, not knowing what to say. “That bad, huh?”  

Flummoxed, she finally managed, “Yes. No. I mean… That is… I don’t know.”

“How can you not know? You’ve only got the one bed. I’ve seen it.”

Sansa thought of the nights spent together in that bed. “Well, I can tell you that he is heavy.”

“Then tell him to roll off you after he’s done.” Teya’s voice was as insolent as ever, and Sansa was sure she was watching her mistress brazenly.

 “Teya, …we’ve never...He has not sought me out.” Shifting uncomfortably, Sansa kept her back to the maid and her eyes on the soft grey velvet in her hands. That was not enough to discourage Teya, though. “You’ve been married for a fortnight but he hasn’t bedded you yet? Not very dutiful of him. Maybe it’s time you clobbered him over the head. You’ve got rights after all.”

This conversation was turning awkward rather quickly, making Sansa forget why she had been so eager to visit the market today. They were surrounded by stalls burdened with deep green, jolly crimson, grey, blue, silver, and gold, with soft velvet, rich silk, cotton, wool, satin, fine muslin and lace. Yet, instead of helping her assemble a new wardrobe, Teya had taken a sudden and undue interest in her marriage.

“I don’t mind, I’d rather not….” Sansa trailed off, hoping her maid would let the matter drop.

“Is it because he’s ugly? Or because you don’t want no man at all?” Teya was blithely ignoring her mistress’ discomfort, as she was wont to do. “’Cause lemme tell you, you’re not the first with a homely husband. Just wait until it’s dark and imagine a handsome knight in his place.”

Sansa decided it was safest to go back to scrutinizing the cloths and dresses on the merchant’s table. Some of them were poor of quality and make, but most were tolerable, and none were overly expensive. She felt Teya stepping up beside her, finally helping her shift through the garments.

Matter-of-factly, Sansa said. “I hardly know my husband.” _He’s huge, and scary, and could break me even more easily than that Lannister knight._

“You’re married. Married folks never know each other, they still boink like rabbits. Might put him in a better mood, too, if you let him under your skirts.”

Sansa knew that, but back then she’d thought she would fall instantly in love with her handsome husband on their wedding day. “I just always imagined my husband to be different, brave, and noble and more honorable.”

Apparently, that wasn’t a good answer. “Honorable? How much honor would you like? Just enough so he’ll refuse a wife heavy with another man’s child? Or is that too much?”

Sansa’s cheek grew hot. _I should have left her at the castle to watch Lady._ But this morning, putting her wolf in a basket and strolling to the market with her maid for company had seemed like a lovely idea. Besides, the girl had become quite stubborn about following her about wherever she went. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that he’s so… grim and crude. He hardly talks to me and when he does, I never know what’ll make him angry.”

“True, but he’s no hitter. You live in the city long enough, you learn to spot them. The Hound’s dangerous but there’s plenty worse than him.”

Sansa wasn’t so sure about that. She wished she could share her fears with her mother or Jeyne, but there was no one, only Teya. “I don’t know what type of man he is, only that his looks are fearsome and his reputation even more so. I am not ungrateful to be wed, but I heard that his liege lord forced his hand. What if he is resentful over being given a used a wife? What if his anger is growing just as the child is growing in my belly?”

 _And am I not reminded every day that others feel the same?_ Two days ago, on her way to the great hall, she’d come across Lady Swyft and Lady Crakehall. They had been introduced at the harvest festival almost four months ago, had even lunched together in the gardens with Sansa in a place of honor between the Queen and Margaery. That was a lifetime ago, though, and now the ladies walked past her without so much as a nod. Sansa had kept her head high and her step even, but the cut had smarted nonetheless.

Sansa sighed. “He doesn’t treat me like he would a treasured spouse. In fact, he hardly notices me at all. What if he hates me?” The thought scared her. No one had ever hated her.

Her outburst didn’t even give Teya pause. She had grabbed a fancy dress in bright red and was currently holding it up for Sansa’s inspection. “Every day he takes that direwolf of yours to the yard to give her some training. You know what people say? They laugh and say that he’s nothing but a kennel master’s son after all. But he doesn’t care, he bought you the wolf from the seven hells and he’ll see her trained. He has no pride and no sense of honor, but that seems to me a good thing for you and your babe.” Teya grinned at her. “Besides, he is more scared of you than you are of him.”

Sometimes, Sansa wondered if Teya was so forward because she was a bit simple. “I don’t think my husband has reason to fear me. Did you notice his size?”

“That’s so, m’lady, but you are a woman and a pretty one at that. Don’t think he’s had many of those before.”

“I don’t believe that he likes me much.” Sansa had her doubts about Teya’s good judgment, concerning her husband as much as the dress.

“Men always like pretty women. They like them to smile, to flirt and laugh, and to play coy and take them to their beds. Your husband’s no different.”

Sansa shook her head. “You’re wrong. My husband mocks me for being a little bird and chirping too much.”

“See? He’s noticed. Now, I think he’d notice even more if you were wearing a red dress.”

“Have you lost your wits? I’d look like a torch burning on both ends.” Apparently, she was right as far as the girl’s sense went.

Teya dropped the dress on the table and gave her a measuring look. “The blue then. It will go well with your eyes.”

“The cleavage is too deep. My chest would be in danger of spilling out.” That wouldn’t be much of an improvement over her current wardrobe. Her old dresses cinched at her waist and her bust had grown so much she could no longer lace herself all the way up. It was no wonder that the other ladies laughed at her.

“Your teats will grow bigger before they get any smaller. Even more reason to take the dress. Put it on, chirp nicely at your husband, and before you know it you’re bedded.” Sansa opened her mouth to protest but Teya cut her off. “He is your husband, sooner or later he will be between your legs. What will you do then? Run screaming? Better if you take some control over it now. Besides, the skirts can be let out to accommodate your growing waistline.”

Sansa fought as hard as she could, but she was no match for her determined hand maiden. In the end, she bought the blue dress as well as a more modest one, some soft linen cloth, and a few pieces of white lace. She hoped it would suffice. She didn’t want to go begging to her husband, not for money and even less for a proper bedding.

#############

She looked relaxed and easy in her sleep. For once, she wasn’t pressed close to the wall, but resting on her side in the middle of the bed, one hand under the pillow and her hair fanning out in a wide coppery arch.  Sandor didn’t think she would rest as comfortably had she known that he was sitting there, watching her, but Teya had warned him not to wake her.

Her maid had found him in the stable, where he’d been sharpening his sword and cleaning Stranger’s tack. He knew men who left that to their squires or the stable hands, but what good was it if a fool boy in the stable knew your blade better than you?

He’d been sitting next to Stranger’s stall when the girl had come up to him and asked to be paid in advance. He’d told her to get lost, but the little shrew was tenacious. “Well, with that stingy attitude it’s no wonder your wife is all out of money,” she’d said. He hadn’t been impressed. “What are you blathering on about? We’re not as rich as the Lannisters but we’ve got coin enough.”

Then, in the tone and manner reserved for snot-nosed children, she explained to him that his wife had just spent the last of her money on some new gowns. “Did you ever make sure that some of your coin went her way? As things stand, she’ll be looking like the wife of a beggar soon.”

He had no household to hand over to a wife, so it never occurred to him that she might need something from him. _Buggering hell, I never gave her any money. No wonder she never leaves the chambers._

Before he stomped off, he’d paid the wench for another week. She was pesky and much too comfortable with talking back to him, but she did her job as he told her to. In thanks, she’d called after him not to wake a pregnant woman, lest she take his head off.

Now, he sat in his chamber – _their_ chamber – watching his wife sleep. Her skin was fair and smooth, such a contrast to her thick, auburn hair. Her features were delicate and clean cut, with high cheek bones and full lips that were slightly parted, her eyes a vivid blue when open. Even he knew that she was a beauty. _She was meant for a prince or a great lord._

Her body was graceful and womanly, and her bodice was half undone. He could see the swell of her breasts pushing against the fabric with every breath, threatening to spill from her gown. She was a vision and part of him wanted nothing more than to crawl in bed with her and rip off that bodice completely.

The other part wished she was uglier and less high born. If she had been a bit more like that baker’s daughter he’d met once, he could have hoped to find a way into her bed in time. But she was always meant to be a rich man’s wife, what could he offer her to make her forget his face?

Uneasily, he lifted a hand to pull on his dark hair. He felt even uglier next to her and that gave him a helpless anger. They shared their dinner almost every night now, on her insistence, and she never commented on his table manners. But he still remembered that horrified look when she saw him eat for the first time, how her eyes had swept over his scarred face, the extent of his disfigurement dawning on her.

Now, she always sat on his right and kept up a light stream of chatter, never expecting him to speak at all. He was still unnerved to eat in her presence and it didn’t help that she jumped whenever he did say something. He couldn’t soften his voice, no more than he could improve his looks. If she didn’t get used to it, he’d have endless evenings full of stiff conversation with an even stiffer wife in front of him.

She stirred on the bed, pulling her arm from under the pillow to cover her yawning mouth as she woke. He brushed his hair over his scarred side as much as he could with one hand and leaned back in his chair. She sat up, her hand rubbing over her eyes. As soon as she dropped her hand and opened her eyes, she spotted him and her body went rigid. “My lord, forgive me, I didn’t expect you…” She looked dazed and her dress was in danger of slipping from one shoulder, her hair framing her face and spilling down all the way to her chest.

“I gave you no reason to. I am here because your maid told me you had been to market today.” It was probably unfair to ambush her directly after waking, but he had to get her out of bed, quickly, so he said, “Why did you not come to me, before?” Finally, she straightened her gown and moved to sit demurely on the bed’s edge.

“It was nothing excessive, my lord, I just needed a new dress and some cloth to make…”, she looked at him uncertainly, “…to sew baby clothing.”

“So I heard.” Sandor looked at her and she lowered her gaze. “Why did you not ask me for the funds?”

Her eyes were on her hands, nervously fidgeting in her lap. “There was no need, my lord, my father left me some-“

“I am no lord, why do you keep calling me that?”

If anything, that made her more nervous. “You are my lord husband, my lord.”

“Aye, and as your husband it is up to me to provide for you, not your father. You should have come to me, but no matter. Next time, take the coin yourself.” He got up to walk to the dresser and opened the topmost drawer. He grabbed a small brown leather bag and dropped it in her lap. “This is the Lannister’s pay. What I spend, I spend on wine. Use the rest as you see fit.” Then he grabbed his cloak and told her to do the same. “We have business in town.”

It was a long way to Lannisport. They should probably have walked but it occurred too late to Sandor that his wife might have preferred that. Instead, he had Stranger saddled and, since his wife had no horse of her own, they had to ride double. She clutched the saddle with white fingers, holding on for dear life.

It didn’t look like she enjoyed riding much, but she was a lord’s daughter. If she wanted one, he ought to find her a horse. A gentle and slow mare would suit her. “Do little birds like to ride? Do you want a pony?”

She turned her head to speak to him. “I used to ride sometimes, but soon I will be too heavy and it would not be safe, my lord.” Sandor frowned. To him she seemed as slender as ever but that would soon change. Maybe it was better if she had no horse, after all.

They dismounted in front of an elegant building standing in a row with somber businesses houses. The street was almost empty but on its other end, it led directly to the noise and bustle of Lannisport’s main market. “This is the Iron Bank.” The little bird was looking at the sign curiously. Sandor shook his head. “Hardly the entire bank, I hear they keep a large part in Braavos.” She shot him an indignant look that made Sandor’s mouth twitch.

They entered and he called for a clerk. He didn’t come here often, people didn’t steel from him and he kept all the money he needed on him. But some of his tourney winnings had made it on an account and if his wife wanted to spend it, it was only fair that she managed it as well.

“You have an account with the Iron Bank? You?” The question bordered on insulting and had the clerk shifting on his chair. “I won some coin at tourneys, more than I was able to drink away. Didn’t like it much, but I had to put the money somewhere.” He regarded her. “It just occurred to me that I now have a little bird to manage the household. So start your managing.” Avoiding more questions, he got up and left her to sort it out with the clerk.

When she joined him again outside, he untied Stranger and led the horse down the cobbled street. She fell in beside him, on his right. “You should not trust me with your account. I’ve never been good with sums. I could make a mistake.”

He had to laugh at that. His courteous, twittering little bird. What mistakes could one possibly make with money? Either one spent it or one didn’t. “Will you take it all and squander it on Dornish Sour?” She frowned at him. “No.”

“Pity, seems to me the only thing worth doing with it.” By now, they’ve reached the market place and were picking their way slowly through the crowd. It was late in the afternoon, almost dusk, and cooking fires had been lit. The air was heavy with the scent of grilling meat and soups and stews were boiling over the flames. Sandor could have done with some chicken fresh form the fire, but the little bird had her eyes on a merchant’s table full of sweets.

 _If she wants some, what is she waiting for?_ He wasn’t about to buy it for her. He just gave her money, she could bloody well learn to spend it herself. He put his hand on her lower back and pushed lightly, propelling her closer to the stall. Her eyes flickered to his, but only for a moment, then she took the hint. When she came back, she was nibbling on a lemon cake.  She ate so delicately, he thought she’d never be done. But by the time they’d crossed the market, the lemon cake was gone and he lifted her back on the horse.

As they shared their evening meal that night, there was no ale or strongwine on the table, but a flagon of Dornish Sour. The little bird didn’t like it much, if her sputtering and coughing was any indication, so he drank it all from half-filled cups. It made the dinner almost comfortable.

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Sansa was glad for the modest dress she had bought. It was a light grey gown made of soft wool with a high neck and waist and loose skirts. A good dress for every day but too plain for court. Still, before she could alter her other dresses it was the best she had, unless she wanted to put on the blue and show the queen her increasing bust.

Cersei had returned to Casterly Rock several days ago, setting the castle aflutter with her ladies-in-waiting and two hundred gold cloaks. The queen hadn’t been expected back so quickly after the festival. King’s Landing was holding court in preparation for the winter and her rightful place was at King Robert’s side. Yet, she was here and had invited all the ladies to tea, even Sansa.

Sansa brushed over her dress one last time and left for the Lannister’s private solar. The other ladies were already gathered around a long table richly decorated with flowers and overflowing with meats, fruits, bread, tarts, cakes, and jugs of wine and cider when Sansa entered the room. She kept to the very end of the table, trying to be unobtrusive. Some of the ladies glanced at her, but no one addressed her as she settled on a chair far from the queen.

Queen Cersei was as beautiful as ever, dressed in a white muslin gown that flowed down her elegant figure and accentuated her golden hair. She sat at the head of the table, the large sunlit windows in her back and two richly dressed ladies on her left.

A servant bent to whisper in her ear and the queen looked up, straight at Sansa. “Sweet child, come show yourself. It has been a while since the festival.” Every eye was on Sansa as she made her way to the golden figure and fell into a deep curtesy. “Your grace.”

“You still look lovely, Sansa. Are you sure you are with child?” The queens voice was gentle, but the giggling and whispering of her ladies-in-waiting around the table was not. Keeping her head bent, Sansa said, “Yes, your grace. I’m already starting to show.”

Cersei motioned for her to rise and gave her a smile. Her smiles were quite lovely, truly. “I remember that a woman’s belly is tender during that time. I had the kitchen bring the foods I enjoyed myself when I was pregnant with the crown prince, fresh fruits, mild meats, sweet bread and light wine from the arbor.”

That was unexpectedly courteous and Sansa wasn’t the only one surprised by the gesture. “You are too generous, your grace.”

“None of that, take a seat and savor the treats.” Cersei motioned for her to sit in the free chair to her right, in the place of honor. All around her, the ladies had fallen silent. So, the queen clapped her hands and called for music, and singers, and even a fool to amuse them.

Soon, the air was merry again and the women were chatting and laughing. The queen had turned away again and left Sansa to her own devices. She didn’t eat much but the lemon tarts tasted sweet and Lady Crakehall on her other side even exchanged a few words with her.  

After a while, the queen rose and announced that she would take the air. Instantly, five ladies-in-waiting rushed forward to accompany her, but the queen waved them all aside and looked towards Sansa instead. “Would you like to attend me? New company will be refreshing.” Nervously, Sansa murmured her acceptance and rose to offer the queen her arm. Together they strolled from the solar onto the terrace, leaving the other ladies behind.

“How do you like it at Casterly Rock, Sansa?” Cersei’s voice was as kind as her smile and Sansa smiled back at her. “It’s lovely, your grace. Your father has been very generous to arrange my match.”

“So, he has been.” Slowly they strolled the length of the terrace until the music and voices faded to mere whispers behind them. “But I heard there was trouble. Some of the other noble ladies seemed unhappy about your presence. We can’t have that, after my father did everything to settle you comfortably.” The queen pulled her to a stop. “I think that will cease now, after they’ve seen in what high regard their queen holds you.”

Sansa gave her a quick curtsey. “You are as kind as you are beautiful, your grace.” The queen looked at her, amused. Then she grabbed her arm more tightly and led them down the terrace once more.

“Almost five months ago, we were standing next to each other much as we are now, and I gave you counsel. Do you remember?”

“At the royal feast, your grace, but I don’t recall...”

“Silly child, I told you that men were brutal creatures at heart, didn’t I? You should have listened. What happened to you was unfortunate and you should have taken better care. Now you are here, claiming to carry a Lannister bastard.” Her voice was casual, as if they were merely talking about the weather. “And my father sent you the maester, didn’t he? That was ill done of him. After all, we women love our children, even the ill-begotten ones, we can’t help it.” They had reached the end of the terrace and the queen stopped again, letting go of Sansa’s arm to face her.

“You see, my father underestimated you. He thought his dog would stand aside as was expected of him, but you already gave him a taste of the honey he wouldn’t want to miss, didn’t you?” All warmth had fled the queens face and her eyes were shrewd and assessing. She seemed to expect an answer. “I don’t know what you mean, your grace.”

Now the queen laughed, a bright and sparkling sound that sent shivers down Sansa’s spine. “Oh, you know only too well. Women have a powerful weapon between their legs and you quickly learned to use it. Might be you’ve already been practicing in the North and the festival was just a convenient way to hide your shame. Is that the way of it?” Sansa shook her head, terrified of the woman in front of her. The golden goddess was gone, in her stead stood an icy woman who looked at her like she would at a fly in her wine.

“It better not be, child. Still, you’ll be carrying to term, you’ve managed that much. But don’t imagine just because your husband likes to climb on top of you he will like the brat once it’s out and squealing. Robert never liked his, and they were his own.

"You’ve forgotten what I told you, you stupid child. Men are a burden on us women and they behave like rabid dogs. Your husband is an ugly brute who got a prettier wife than he could have hoped for. You were quick to use that but heed my words, as soon as the brat is out he’ll be pumping between your legs to breed his own. He won’t give a fig about _this one_.” The queen grabbed her, her fingers digging in her arm like claws and pulling her close.

“If you drop a girl, you can keep her, but if she looks like a Lannister you will not raise her here at Casterly Rock. If it’s a boy, you will hand him over to my father on his very name day. Don’t worry, he’ll be safe enough but we’ll not have you raise a Lannister pretender. Do you understand, girl?” Silent tears were running down Sansa’s face and she was twisting in the queen’s grasp. “Let me go, you are hurting me.”

The queen’s fingers were like iron and she didn’t let got. She pulled her even closer and whispered in her ear. “Don’t even think to run to your husband. He won’t care to have a little Hill around and he’ll be gladly rid of it. You should be grateful, might be he shares his brother’s love for children and would smash the brat to pieces himself.” The queen pushed her back and let go. “You’ll give us your bastard and in thanks we’ll leave you to push out puppies for the Hound for the rest of your days. I hope that’s clear enough for a little featherhead like you.”

Sansa was staring at the woman in front of her, shaking and wiping at her face with her sleeve. The queen gave her a final dismissive look and sent her on her way. “Now go, run back to your dog’s lair and don’t let any of my ladies catch you.”

When Sansa made it back to the chamber, her heart was still pounding and her hands were shaking so hard, she could barely open the door. She slipped inside and found the room empty but for lady. Grabbing her wolf close, she sank on the bed and kept crying, for hurt and fear in equal measure.


	9. Licking Each Other’s Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody hurts … sometimes.  
> ######################

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING & SPOILER: Talk of abuse and rape, not for very long and not very explicitly but it wrecks some damage.  
> ######################

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The little birds were glittering colorfully in the sun, but the wings were so filigree they were almost translucent. The details were rendered with a skilled hand, their bodies bent as if in motion, and if one lifted them in the air they seemed to be alive and flying. Glass work from one of the free cities, Sandor judged.

When the merchant lumbered over and began to praise his wares, Sandor felt the fool more keenly than he did even at his own wedding. He’d been to market more often in the last few weeks than he’d used to go in a year. Still, he didn’t move from the merchant’s stall, just stood contemplating the little birds.

The trader wasn’t helping the situation. “A beautiful present for a beautiful lady perhaps, my lord?” He gave the man an evil look to send him off. _Maybe the little bird would like a glass bird to keep her company._ But then he remembered that she didn’t like being called little bird. And why would he buy her a present anyway? She had money enough, if she wanted a bird of glass she could buy one herself.

Yet, he didn’t leave. He’d been drawn to the colorful trinkets because they reminded him of her, beautiful and graceful and so dainty he was afraid they would break under his touch. The thought didn’t make him any happier but it wasn’t enough to drive him away, either.

 _I could buy her a bird as a gift. Men do that for their wives and mistresses, it wouldn’t be strange._ But that way lay madness, he knew that. He could buy her as many presents as he wanted, she still wouldn’t think him handsome. Carefully, he picked up a fierce yellow bird with spread wings, its beak and claws extended forward as if about to attack. _A little fierceness would become her._

In the end, he had to buy the yellow bird just so he finally had a reason to leave. He wouldn’t give it to her, he told himself, he could just smash it in the gutters of the Rock. But for now, it hung around his throat on a silver chain, hidden under his tunic.

All day, while he walked the streets of Lannisport, oversaw the training of the raw recruits, trained Lady on a bloody shirt, and ate in the great hall, he felt the little figurine cool against his skin. All day, he told himself no to be stupid. If he started to bring his wife trinkets for no reason, even a halfwit would understand what he was doing. Worse, the little bird would see right through it, too. _What am I doing, bloody hells!_

He’d been married for more than a moon now and Sansa was still with him. He’d thought that she would leave soon after the wedding, claiming his name and demanding an escort north. But so far, she had stayed. Every day she grew more beautiful, even as she grew heavier with child. ~~~~

He knew she suffered for it. A bastard was a mark of shame and it didn’t help that circles that used to be open to the daughter of Lord Stark were closed to the wife of Sandor Clegane. _It’s only a matter of time before she’ll leave. Soon she will realize that life would be easier for her in the North. A husband was all she needed and a husband I’d still be, even a hundred miles away._

The thoughts kept circling in his head, robbing him of all peace. He was so preoccupied with his fretting, he forgot to throw away the bird and so it still hung around his neck when he sat down to share his evening meal with his wife.

Sansa had set a rich table as she always did, even including a jug of Dornish Sour for him. Tonight, however, she said little and ate even less, feeding Lady under the table instead. The silence hadn’t been so uneasy in a long time. “What is it little bird? Did Teya upset you?” Sansa looked up from her plate, clearly surprised that he had spoken. “Oh, no my lord. I’ve just been thinking.” Turning her fork in her hand, she added. “Of the queen, my lord. She left for King’s Landing today.”

And a good thing that was, too. The gold cloaks had caused nothing but trouble. “Sad that she left, are you? I didn’t know the Lannister woman was so dear to you.” He kept a close eye on her. If she still dreamt of court, he might as well give up now. _There’s nothing to give up, fool!_

“Oh no, my lord, not at all. Just some idle musings.” She tried to give him a smile, but her lips were stiff and her eyes empty. _Something’s bugging her but she won’t tell me._ Well, it wasn’t as if he was telling her everything that bugged him, either. He grunted and went back to his food.

After the meal, he oiled his mail and leather by the light of the fire. Sansa was sitting in the other chair, the wolf at her feet and some fabric and a needle in her hand, but her gaze was lost in the flames. She looked sad and almost as fragile as the bird resting on his chest.

Sandor cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking little bird.” She gave no sign that she’d heard. “These quarters are too small, we should have moved after the wedding. Certainly, we should ask for more rooms before your whelp arrives. Why don’t you go and talk to the castellan tomorrow?” When she finally turned her head, her eyes were large blue pools wet with unshed tears.

“Oh. You think we could have bigger quarters?” Sandor shrugged. “We’ll be paying for them, but I don’t see why not.” She blinked at him. “You think we’ll need them?”

“What do I know, little bird. You’re supposed to know about child rearing, don’t come running to me for help. You think you need a nursery, talk to the castellan.” That seemed to confuse her more than make her happy. Sandor sighed. _Just give it to her, idiot, you know you want to._

He let his hair fall in front of his face and reached for the chain around his neck. “I bought you something today. Nothing useful, just …something.” He peeked at her through the curtain of his hair and found her looking at him. Awkwardly, he lifted the chain over his head and dangled the bird in front of her. He held his breath while he waited for her to move.

As soon as she cupped the figurine in her hand, he let go of the chain. “It’s a little bird, in the Clegane colors.” Put like that, it sounded even worse. “Aye,” was all he said.

“Thank you, my lord.” Sansa was smiling a little now. She pulled the chain over her head and settled the yellow bird on her chest. The chain was too long and fell all the way to her breasts. _That’s a better place for it._

 He went back to oiling his mail and muttered, “I am no lord.”

“You always say that, but then what shall I call you?”

“Call me dog, like everyone else.”

“I’ll not call my husband dog. Especially not when he calls me little bird. It’s a menagerie more than a marriage.” Some life had returned to her eyes and she gave him a defiant look. “My name is Sansa. Why don’t you use it?”

 _Because I like calling you little bird._ “Why don’t you stop your chirping, little bird?”

She threw her hands up. “Suit yourself. I’ll call you Sandor. Good night, Sandor.”

Sandor. Despite himself, he liked how warm that made him feel. _She’ll call me Sandor. Maybe I’ll have to talk to her more often_.

#########

Sansa spun in a circle, taking in her new home. The bedroom was smaller, but the hearth in the main room was bigger and while the furnishing was still sparse, it was more than they’d had before.  

She didn’t care about any of that. The only thing she cared about was the small room that stood empty but held all of her hopes. Surely, if her husband thought to get a nursery he didn’t plan to take her child from her. Surely, he wouldn’t mind a girl. Or, if it was a boy, surely he’d allow her to send him to Winterfell. He wasn’t a prideful man, surely, he wouldn’t mind her little innocent babe.

The queen’s words rang always in her ears and followed her into her dreams, reminding her that she wasn’t save at Casterly Rock and neither was her unborn child. She’d been so naive to think otherwise. But her husband had warned her, had protected her. That had to count for something.

 _You must be strong._ Sansa had lain awake all night and as she got up in the morning, the yellow little bird had sat on the dresser, catching her eye. She’d come to a decision then. She was a married woman and she would trust in her husband. Sandor. She would trust Sandor. Nothing good had ever come from the Lannisters and nothing bad ever from her husband. _Family, Duty, Honor._

She was still working on her resolve when the door burst open. “Bloody hells, little bird. Did you plan on letting me know where to find my bed or where you hoping to vanish without a trace?” He looked around with wild eyes, nostrils flaring, his hand on his sword belt.

 _He’s more afraid of me than I of him,_ Sansa reminded herself. “Good evening, Sandor. Teya was supposed to tell you but I only just sent her.” He took in the room, looking for all the world as if he expected an ambush or another maester hiding behind the drapes. With every minute that past perfectly uneventful, he seemed more lost. Sansa smiled to herself. “There’s warm water in the bed chamber if you’re coming directly from the yard.” He muttered but followed her suggestion in the end.

Sansa settled in to wait, taking up her needle work once more. She heard him splashing and swearing  in the other room. He probably didn’t like the mirror on the wall.  Or maybe it was the new linen on the bed, yellow and black. Sansa smiled to herself. He’d get used to it.

Her needle slipped and pricked her middle finger. Drawing in a sharp breath, she watched a red drop fall and bloom on the grey swaddling clothes. Dropping her needle work, she wanted to push to her feet but was surprised by warm hands engulfing hers. Sandor had made his way back into the room and was crouching in front of her, turning over her hand and examining her fingers.

“Why don’t you just buy the gods damned things?” Spoken in his hoarse voice, the words sounded rough and angry but his hands were gentle. “No one buys swaddling clothes, they are made easily enough.” He grunted. Then, in a swift motion, he brought her hand to his mouth and sucked on her wounded finger. Surprised, Sansa wanted to snatch her hand back, but he held on to it, his mouth hot and his tongue wet and soft as it licked over her skin. When he looked at the wound again, he nodded and dropped her hand. He came back with a warm rag to wash it. “Any wound can fester. An infection would not be easy on you right now.”

“It’s nothing, just a needle prick.” She talked to the top of his head and her voice was so low, he wouldn’t have heard had he not been squatting right in front of her. She could feel the heat of his body, so much larger than hers. He smelled fresh, too, of soap, and leather, and that dark healthy scent only men seemed to have.

He lowered her hand to her thigh, resting his own hand on her leg for a moment. “Leave your needles out in the evening, so I can boil them in wine at least.”

“Thank you, Sandor.” She lifted her hand and gently put it on his shoulder. But he was already rising and moving away to pour himself a cup of wine. Taking a deep breath, Sansa got up to lay her stitching aside. Lingering before the dresser, she gathered her courage. _Go to him, he is your husband. More afraid of you than you of him. You can do this._ She was facing the wall, trying to pluck up her courage, and didn’t hear him approach.

Suddenly, he was behind her, large and warm, and so much taller than her. He didn’t touch her, but she felt him leaning close. His breath moved her hair. Her heart sped up, pounding excitedly in her chest. She couldn’t think, couldn’t say anything, just stood there and felt. After a few moments, he put a hand on her waist and braced his other arm on the wall, caging her in. His warmth pressed closer and he buried his face in her hair, his breath on her neck.

Her body just froze. She wanted to talk, wanted to move, but nothing happened. **_No. Please no._** So many memories came rushing back at once, of cruel hands on her breasts, under her skirts, between her legs. She was there again and it was happening. He was pushing her, hurting her from behind, and she couldn’t even scream, couldn’t move. Her body grew stiff and foreign, her breath erratic. Tears were running down her face but she wasn’t sobbing, completely silent.

When the memories finally left her, she was alone. She found herself sitting on the floor, still shaking, only now noticing that the room had grown dark. She scrambled to light a candle. Holding the burning wick, she spun around herself but there was nothing, just the night beyond the window.

#####

There wasn’t enough wine in all of Westeros to dull his pain. He swallowed greedily but his hand was shaking and dark red liquid ran down his throat to soak into his tunic. He dropped the empty skin next to the others. _Gods, I should have brought more wine._ He still had a full skin, but two were already empty and it was a long way from his lonely rock to the kitchen. 

 _Drinking is all I’m good for, I should have stuck to the wine._ He didn’t want to think about it, but his thoughts just kept returning to that moment, to her, no matter how much he drank. Desperately, he grabbed the last skin and ripped it open.

It wasn’t fair. She didn’t even have to look at him. She had been facing away, he had made sure of that. He screamed then, the wordless sound of a wounded animal, and beat his empty fist against the stone. When his anger was spent, his hand came away bloody and he sank down to the ground. He wiped his hand on his breeches and took another pull from the wineskin. Then he dropped his head into his blood-stained palm.

She had been so lovely, with her thick auburn hair down her back. And she had seemed comfortable in their new quarters. She had greeted him with his name, let him touch her when she pricked her finger. Gods, it had taken so much courage to approach her. His palms had been sweaty and his heart had sped up to a nervous beat. He had felt like an idiot, but he had also wanted, and had hoped.

When she stood with her back to him, he’d seen his chance. He hadn’t dared touch her, not right away. But her hair had smelled so sweet and felt soft against his cheek. And she hadn’t moved away, so he’d put his hand on her waist, carefully, gently. She’d been soft and warm, for a moment. Then she’d grown all rigid and cold. Terror and crazed fear had come off her suddenly and she had started to shake under his hand. When he saw the tears running down her cheeks, he’d turned away and left.

He had known that he wasn’t the husband she wanted. Had known that she would humiliate him eventually. But how had she hidden her revulsion for so long? And how would he face her again? A wave of sickness rolled through him. _She doesn’t want you, doesn’t want your hands on her, or your face close to hers. Certainly doesn’t want your cock between her legs. She thinks you're disgusting. Everyone thinks you’re disgusting._

He felt his tears mingling with the blood on his hand until he couldn’t take it anymore. He emptied the last skin without a break and hoped he’d pass out sooner rather than later.

#####

Sandor didn’t return to his bed or his wife for three days, choosing to sleep in the stable next to Stranger. After three nights, however, he couldn’t avoid it any longer. He waited until well past midnight before he silently stepped into the bedroom.

The room was dark and quiet. Not bothering to light a candle, he doffed his soiled tunic and washed himself quickly.

“My lord, I …” Sandor whirled around. A small shadow sat on the bed, hidden by the darkness, but there was only one person that would be waiting for him here. “Shouldn’t little birds be sleeping? Why are you chirping at me, wench?” Sandor returned to his cleaning, telling himself that he didn’t care to hear her answer.

Her voice came softly from behind him. “I am sorry, my lord, I …”

“Sorry for what, girl? Sorry that you find your husband hideous? You’re in good company.”

 If anything, her voice grew even smaller. “Sorry that they’ve given you a broken wife.” That gave him pause. He was about to tell her not to give him lies now, but she continued.

“He … he surprised me. I thought he was a knight, that he would help me. But he pushed me into the wall, and then… from behind, he… I never saw his face.” She was crying, noisily this time, and rocking on the bed with her arms slung around her middle. Gradually, it dawned on Sandor what she was telling him. He dropped his hand to his side, staring at his wife.

“The worst part was that I couldn’t move. I .. and he … and I just stood there, not doing anything, not even calling out. I didn’t want him to do that, I didn’t want to hold still for him. In my mind I was screaming for him to stop, but on the outside my body just didn’t move.” Her speech was interrupted by hiccups, but she carried on. “When you walked up to me from behind, it all came back, and my body just froze again. I have tried not to think of it, and it surprised me and please, I never meant…never meant…”

He heard the terror in her voice and it made him feel so relieved. It wasn’t him. It hadn’t been him at all. He felt almost light headed. That didn’t last long, though. His wife was sobbing on their bed, full of shame and distress, and he was sure there was something he was supposed to do.

He stepped forward slowly, then went down on his knees before the bed. He couldn’t see her clearly, so he’d only be a hulking shadow to her. Haltingly, he found the words. “When I was small, a boy of six or seven perhaps, my brother and I received some toys from a woodworker.” It wasn’t what he had meant to tell her, but her tears had quieted and she was listening, so he carried on. “I liked Gregor’s gift, a wooden knight that could be moved in a mock fight. Gregor didn’t care for it, so I took it and played with it. He found me, his knight in hand, and never said a word, just picked me up and pressed my face into the coals.” He heard her draw in a sharp breath but didn’t stop his tale. He couldn’t, not now. “It burned and I screamed and screamed but there was nothing I could do. He was so much stronger than me. They had to drag him off me.” Sandor’s voice was hoarser than usual and less steady, too. “My father told everyone my bedding caught fire. I hate fire, and I hate my brother, and I hate that my face is a ruin and that I am hideous and still scared of my brother sometimes.” He broke off, unsure what else to say. Self-consciously, he raised his hand to tug on his hair but Sansa caught it in hers. Her other hand found his shoulder and they stayed like this for a long moment. Then he sent her to bed and put on fresh breeches before slipping in beside her.

######

“Sandor,” she whispered, “I can’t sleep.”

He turned on his side to face her. “Do you want me to light a candle?”

She didn’t answer so he said, “I can’t see you nodding, little bird. You need to chirp.”

She chortled and then she said yes. He sat up to light a candle on the table next to the bed. When he settled back down, its glow illuminated her face and form.

“And now, little bird?” Her tears have been washed away and she was laying on her side, too, mirroring his position. “Now we talk. We can ask each other questions, to get to know one another.” He didn’t respond immediately, a bit worried about sharing more of his stories with her. He would have been content to watch her in the candle light.

“I’ll start. What do you teach Lady when you take her to the yard?” The question made him grin. “How to bite the maester’s arse should he come knocking again. I paid one of the street urchins to steal his robe while he was busy with a whore. Now Lady’s learning to bite anything that carries his scent.” Her lips split into a full smile and her eyes were dancing with laughter, the sad mood completely gone. “It’s your turn now.”

 He searched for a light question. “Why do you always smell so sweet, little bird?”

“Because I bathe every now and then.”

“No, it must be something else. Even my horse gets washed from time to time and I still didn’t like sleeping next to him.”

Sansa giggled, a light and happy sound. “Maybe birds smell better than horses.” Her eyes were glittering and she was lying next to him all soft and pliant.

Without thinking, he lifted a hand and ran his fingers through her hair. It looked like fire, but was cool to the touch, soft as silk and so very fine. “Aye, they look better, too.” That got him smacked in the chest.

“Did you just compare my appearance to your monstrous courser?” She gave him an outraged look. Sandor let go of her hair, unsure if he’d just gravely misstepped.

“No, I said you looked better.” Even to his own ears that didn’t sound very good.

Sansa acknowledge the words with a snort. “Somewhat prettier than a horse and only marginally lighter. I am growing as fat as your steed, that’s true. Soon you’ll no longer be able to tell us apart.”

Sandor chuckled, going back to stroking her hair. “Don’t be so harsh, little bird. Stranger’s not fat, only well-muscled, and besides, I’d notice if he turned auburn overnight.”

That got him another smack. This time, however, she didn’t pull her hand back.

“You’re supposed to comfort your wife and give her compliments.” Her hand was resting on his bare chest, the lightest of touches.

“I am comforting my wife –  I am stroking her feathers. But I am terrified of the little bird, I wouldn’t dare to contradict her.” She gave him an incredulous look.

“Dogs aren’t scared of little birds. They eat them for breakfast.” _If you only knew how frightened I am right now. Or how much I’d like to eat you for breakfast._

“You mistake me for your wolf. I am not half as fierce as her.” She was watching him with her impossibly blue eyes, looking straight at him without flinching. He felt his body grow heavy and time stood still until there was just her hand on his skin and his fingers in her hair.

She looked at him, shyly, and her eyes were full of wonder. The corners of her mouth drew up in a half smile. “Maybe I’ll keep her at my door and you in my bed, then. She can keep watch while you keep petting me.” The words had his gut clench. _Gods yes, keep me in your bed._  He felt warm and alive in bed with her, looking at her, touching her. Whenever she touched him, his limps grew weak and when she looked at him, his heart beat faster.

“You are so very beautiful, Sansa.” He was short of breath and sounded like a lovesick fool, but for once he didn’t care. She beamed with joy, her face radiant, looking like the maiden herself.

Incredibly, the goddess came closer. He settled on his back and, gently, she put her head on his right shoulder and moved her body close to his. The hand on his chest was stroking him, her breath fanning over his neck.

His right arm came around her waist, his hand resting on her hip. It was natural and terrifying at the same time. He could feel her body move with every breath, her breasts pushing against his side. He kept stroking her hair and, leisurely, let his hand wander lower, caressing her nape with his finger, stroking her back, petting her until her body lay heavy next to his. Once, he ran his hand up her side, his fingers gliding tenderly over the side of her breast.

He felt it then. Her lips brushing his shoulder in the softest of kisses. So soft, he almost missed it. Too soon, she lay back down and her breathing leveled out with sleep.

Sandor’s heart beat hard and fast under Sansa’s hand, keeping him awake until dawn.

##############

 


	10. Old Dogs, New Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor finally finds the courage to …visit the whorehouse. (Trust me, I guess?)  
> ##########################

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you will hate me for this. Please feel free, I understand. However, I couldn’t have a bumbling idiot around a traumatized Sansa. Here’s my solution. WARNING: No plot, just smut. Also, not sure this level of detail was necessary. Feel free to make your feelings known.  
> ###########################

He’d walked this street many times before, usually to its very end, where the seediest of its buildings could be found. Tonight, it would have to be another house. The cheapest whorehouse was good enough if one wanted ale, wine, or the pox. Sandor wanted more, and the women at his old winesink wouldn’t do, not for what he had in mind.

He left the Rock well after dark by a narrow staircase leading through the servants’ quarters and directly to the stables. He slipped past the guards posted at the castle walls, careful not to draw their attention, and kept to the shadows while he walked down Lannisport’s pleasure street. Not that he had anything to hide. He’d been here often enough and no one would be surprised to find him here again. Now, however, he was a married man and he didn’t want a loose mouth to carry his business back to the little bird.

Sandor stopped in front of a golden house. It looked elegant and expensive and its bright windows were spilling warm light onto the street as if to say that it had nothing to hide. Above the gilded door hung the wooden image of a girl carrying a purple lily, the only indication of the house’s purpose. This wasn’t a place Sandor would have picked, but it was the place the Imp was frequently seen at when he was at Casterly Rock. It was well known that the dwarf had sophisticated tastes when it came to whores, costly tastes to be sure, but Sandor wanted only the best tonight.

He pushed the door open and, to his surprise, didn’t enter a public room but a well-lit hallway in soft peach colors with a high ceiling and delicate chairs and sofas. Sandor snorted. At his old winesink the furniture wouldn’t have lasted an hour.

He turned slowly, feeling monstrous in this soft and pretty room. While he tried to make out where to go next, a woman stepped out from behind colorful drapes. “Welcome to the Maiden’s House of Pleasures.“ She wore a gown of red and golden silk that played around her body like water flowing down a river. Her face was too composed to let on whether she found his presence alarming.

“Are you running this place?“ What does one say to a whore who like a queen? Sandor felt out of place and suddenly wished he had gone to his usual place. There at least he would have known how to talk to the women.

“No, I wouldn’t say I am running this place. I merely guard the entrance to its garden of delights.“ She delivered this with a smile, but he had no doubt that she was assessing him as carefully as he was her. “Maybe if you told me what you are seeking, I can tell you where you might find it. “

“I want your most experienced whore.“ That wiped the smile off her face, replacing it with a distrustful frown. “Saria is good but expensive and she serves one noble client exclusively. Perhaps you would like to take a closer look at the younger- “

“I pay in gold.“ He grabbed a purse heavy with coin and threw it to the silk-clad figure. Surprise flickered over her features when she felt the weight of her catch. “If you tell me exactly- “

“I’ll talk to her and no one else. Half of the money for her to receive me and half for her service should she be willing to provide it.“ She didn’t think much of his manners, he could tell. But however fancy the house, in the end it was still a brothel and the women were for sale. He brought enough coin that she couldn’t turn him away outright. “Very well, I will see if she is in.“

Ten minutes later, he was led into a spacious room on the second floor. It’s furnishing was tasteful, and the chamber resembled a rich man’s solar more than a whore’s bedchamber, or so he imagined. There was a large bed set in an alcove in the back, but clearly the room was used to entertain over food, wine, and music just as much as between the sheets. Three cushy chairs with upholstery of green velvet were arranged around a small table that carried a jug of wine. A woman in a black dress sat in one of them. Her raven hair was arranged in a complicated style, revealing a face that once would have been striking but now showed signs of aging. She lacked the feminine glow that made Sansa so very beautiful. Whether she never had it or lost it with age he could not say.

“You’ve been asking for an experienced woman, they say, and are willing to pay handsomely for my age.“ She looked at him no friendlier than the other woman had. “That can only mean unusual tastes that require very specific skills.“ By unusual she clearly meant unnatural. “Why don’t you sit and tell me what you’re after? But be warned, even as a whore I consider it my right to refuse.“

Sandor lowered himself into the chair to the woman’s left, exposing his good side to her. “As well you can, I’ve already said so,“ he eyed the wine on the table, “but for the price on your time, I’d expect a cup of wine at least.“

Without a word, she filled a cup and offered it to him. For a moment, he stared into the wine as if it could tell him whether he could trust her. You’ve already come so far, no use chickening out now. He lifted the cup and drained it in a few quick swallows.

“I do require a few things for my gold, some of them might be considered unusual. For one, I am married. No one can know the purpose I came here for.“ The whore laughed. “You’d hardly be the first to keep such a secret from your lady.“

“It’s not only my lady that concerns me. I said no one and I meant it.“ Sandor couldn’t stomach the thought of the entire castle whispering about this, about him. He took a deep breath. “I married not long ago and a bit surprisingly-“

“I know who you are. A lovely bride you got, even under the circumstances.“ Then she waited, unmoving under his hard stare.  
“I need to know what she likes,“ he blurted out. “When I take her to my bed, I need to know how to make sure... “ He trailed off, willing her to understand. The whore lifted a dark brow. “You haven’t bedded her yet?“ He shook his head. “She hardly knows me and I can’t hope that her previous experience will help.“ Now the whore smiled at him, the first real smile he saw the entire evening. “A man of rare good sense. I am Saria and I am delighted to be of service.“

She called for two young women, a blonde and a brunette no older than 20. Sandor didn’t see how more women would make this any better, for his own nerves as much as for the risk of indiscretion, but Saria insisted. “We are happy to show you all you need to know, but you have to give this matter in my hand. There will be no risk of discovery by the wrong people, I will involve only who I deem absolutely necessary. “

The two girls climbed onto the bed while Saria took up a standing position at one of the bedposts. She had Sandor draw up a chair as close to the bed as possible. The girls where giggling on the bed and he could feel the looks they were giving him from the corners of their eyes. The only solace was that he paid for their silence.

Saria gave him a knowing smile. “Trust that I know best. After all, this is what you bought me for. Now, pay attention.  
Your wife is almost a maiden with no more than a maiden’s experience. Men are not like to hurt a woman with their cocks, not even maidens. They hurt them with their impatience. You launch a ship from the shipyard before it’s ready, you’ll sink it, no matter that it was made to withstand the waves. Your wife is new to this, so take your time. “

He wasn’t about to mention that he was new to this too. He had a feeling she knew anyways. “Start by stroking her, calming her, admiring her with your hands. You know how to handle a nervous filly, treat her the same. Never too rough, never demanding.“ By now, the dark haired girl had gotten undressed while the other was petting her, down her arms, over her stomach, up her side. “Her body will show you what she likes. If she stiffens or withdraws, don‘t force it.“ He could see that the naked girl was lolling on the bed, enjoying the blonde’s attention and offering her new areas to pet – her back, her legs, giggling when the blonde’s hand stroked over her ass.

“When you see that she likes what you do, start kissing her. Begin with her shoulders, her neck, below her ears, above her chest, her elbows, her stomach and legs, anywhere she likes. But keep it light, playful. Don’t ask for anything, it is an offering, a light caress with your lips on her body.” The blond girl was softly nibbling at her partner’s throat, moving down her body slowly. Sandor felt himself flush and his mouth twitched unhappily. Getting his face this close to the little bird would be a disaster, she’d be able to feel the scars on his lips and cheeks.  
His unwelcome musings were interrupted by Saria. “It won’t matter, trust me. If she likes what you do, it will be as if your scars weren’t there. If anything, your touch will feel all the more interesting for it.” Does she always know what a man is thinking? Does every woman? The thought was disturbing.

“It’s hard to say what exactly your wife will like, though, every woman is different. Nothing for it but to try everything, she’ll let you know what she enjoys.” The blond girl has moved on to kissing the top of her lover’s breasts, while her hands were stroking up and down her legs, playing on the girls stomach every now and then. He could hear the brunette’s sighs and saw how her legs slowly dropped open.

“Now this part is tricky, better move too slow than too fast. If she seems ready, if she is pliant, sighing and opening to you, touching you in return, then start touching her in her most beautiful places. Kiss her on her face, her mouth, caress her breast, the insides of her legs.” The two girls were kissing in the bed, their tongues tangling. The brunette was slowly undressing the blond girl on top of her until they were both naked. Their legs were intertwined, and the blonde was touching the other’s breasts. She broke the kiss and once more nibbled down the other girl’s throat. This time she continued until she was licking and suckling a dark nipple. The other woman showed her appreciation with low, guttural noises. Sandor couldn’t take his eyes of her and her pleasure. It made his blood run hot.

“This can give your wife great pleasure. Some girls like it rough, with teeth, some soft, only with lips and tongue. Spend your time to learn your wife’s breasts but be careful while she’s with child. She might be more sensitive than else.” Sandor’s breath hitched. He imagined himself on top of a naked Sansa, her writhing under his hands, his mouth and his tongue. He thought of Sansa spread out on his bed, bared to his view much like the dark-haired girl, moaning just as she did. He didn’t know when he grew hard, but he could feel himself straining against his breeches.

“Now see how you’re doing. Carefully stroke over your wife’s mound, test her curls. If her arousal is building, you will feel her wetness on your fingers and see it in her hair. That’s your permission to touch her between her thighs. Use your fingers to gently stroke between her lips and spread her wetness. Be gentle, most women are more sensitive than men and like a softer touch.” The girl on the bed had her legs spread and he could see her glistening curls. Her hair was all wrong, too dark and without any touch of fire, but it held him transfixed nonetheless. The other girl’s hand was parting her hair, revealing her lips and stroking between them. Sandor was leaning closer, desperate to watch, to touch. He felt his heart beating in his breast, pounding as if it meant to break free. He felt the blood pulsing in his cock, too, his dick throbbing and making his head cloud with want.

“On top of her lips you’ll find her hidden pearl. When she is truly wet, touch her there, circle it, stroke over it. Let her tell you what she likes, she might not yet know herself, be patient and don’t leave before you know.” By now the girl was moaning loudly on the bed, lifting her body against the blonde’s hand who was quickly stroking over the girl’s nub. They paid him no mind, it was as if he wasn’t there, so lost were they in their love play.

“Your hands might be too rough for this. Then do as the bear does with his maiden fair. Most women like it better anyways. Kiss her between her legs, use your tongue to lick her lips, tease her pearl, and if she bursts on your tongue, give her a short reprieve but know that she is not done. She’ll come on your mouth many times before the night is over.” The blond girl had moved down the brunette’s body and Sandor could only see the back of her head. Her face was buried between her lover’s thighs. The brunette was throwing her head around and was grabbing the blond hair between her legs. Even from three feet away, he could smell her arousal. She was loud when she came.

Sandor was panting and pressed his hand on his hard prick. He was so aroused he could feel himself leaking into his pants. Gods, to have Sansa under me like this, her legs over my shoulder, gripping my hair, undone and screaming her pleasure, screaming my name...gods, please....

“Only when she is wet enough that an army of parched Dornishmen could drink their fill, try to breach her with your cock. If you are unsure, use a finger first. If she is ready, she will like it, a lot, you’ll see.” The blond girl was standing over the other girl who still sprawled on the bed. Sandor could see that she was thrusting two of her fingers inside the other girl. The brunette was pushing against her hand, moving her hips, whimpering at every thrust of the blonde’s finger.

“There is a spot in the front of your wife’s channel. Find it, with your hand, your cock, your tongue if it’s long enough.” From far away, he heard Saria laugh but he never took his eyes off the bed. He didn’t see anything but the girl’s fingers in the dark-haired cunt. Couldn’t think of anything else. One hand was rubbing the pearl Saria had spoken off while another hand fucked the girl hard and fast. She was bucking her hips, seeking out every stroke of those fingers. Sandor pressed a hand between his own legs and watched intently. “Keep touching her pleasure nub while you are in her. It will make her explode around you. Don’t worry if you are quicker than her, you can always go back to licking her. And if you really want to be the lover she deserves, keep kissing her, keep stroking her and whisper love words in her ear, let her know how beautiful she is, how much she pleases you, that there is no other that could ever compare. Women like that best of all.”

The girls on the bed came to a finish. The brunette called out one more time and he could see her lips quivering, pulsing around the other girl’s fingers. The woman sighed and sagged on the bed. He had never been inside a woman, never even been close enough to make out the details of her sex. The sight before him and the smell of sex made him want, gave him a ferocious hunger. His cock was twitching in his breeches and he was stroking himself through his pants with the flat of his hands.

“You will feel your wife’s pleasure. Don’t be fooled by her pretty crying and sighing, it’s her body that will tell you of her peak. Don’t leave her unsatisfied, even if you already had your own pleasure, especially not then.” She paused, letting this sink in. “Now we’ll leave you alone. Stay until you’re ready to leave.” With these last words, Saria ushered the girls towards the door.  
Sandor had unlaced his breeches before the door closed behind them. He went to his knees and braced one hand on the bed. His cock was painfully hard and he hissed with pain when he gripped himself with dry hands. He wished it wasn’t his own hand for once. He wanted soft and dainty fingers. A wet mouth. And he wanted a dripping cunt, on his mouth, on his cock. He started stroking himself, spreading the wetness at his tip. It would be quick.

He thought of Sansa, her smile, her hair, how she would look naked, the curls between her legs dark with wetness, hers and his. Oh gods, Sansa, please let me in your bed, please, I just ....gods ... He felt himself grow even harder. He pressed his face into his arm and closed his eyes, imagining himself with his face buried in Sansa’s flaming hair, spilling in her wet womb. “Sansa, Sansa,” he cried as he came over his own stomach and fingers.  
##################


	11. The Wolf And The Dog Sitting In The Tree, Kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First comes marriage, then comes angst, then comes love…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty explicit, pretay explicit. 
> 
> Also, you guys are awesome, your comments make my day. Thanks for reading even though it took me so long to update. I really struggled with this chapter (still do, tbh). So, if you feel like it, let me know what you’re missing.  
> ########################

Sandor looked out to sea, willing a longship to appear on the moonlit waters. It’s only been 12 years since Balon Greyjoy burned the Lannister fleet at anchor and ever since Tywin had been careful to keep any ironborn ship far away from Lannisport. Recently, reavers had been spotted coming down the coast and so the Lion sent his faithful dog to meet them.

When Tywin had sent him out, Sandor had welcomed the chance to leave the Rock, hoping for some fighting to burn away his hurt and anger. They’ve been riding up the coast for five days and so far, they haven’t seen as much as a plank of a longship. The lack of enemies has made the expedition dreary and left Sandor with too much time to think.

His mind wandered back to the last time he’d seen the little bird. They’d been in bed and he’d been stroking her beautiful, auburn hair. Somehow, this had become their little ritual and he found himself looking forward to it more every day. 

That night, he’d been propped up on one arm, watching her in the fading light. His other hand was running through her strands, fingers dancing over her cheeks, softly moving down her throat and caressing her shoulders. He’d pushed down her shift in the process, letting it slip from her shoulder and baring the top of her breasts to him. When he moved to touch her soft flesh, his fingers trembled slightly, but Sansa kept smiling at him.

She let him touch her a bit more every night, though she never reached out to touch him in turn. Usually, when he did something daring, like running his fingertips over her covered breasts, her cheeks would redden. She never told him no, though, nor did she take her eyes of him.

He didn’t dare to kiss her, not on the mouth. That seemed like asking for too much. But if he could get her to uncover her breasts for him, he could kiss her there. And he would make it good for her. If he only knew how to get her out of that shift without making her nervous. He should have asked for advice on that, too.

Maybe if he just nipped on her throat. He could kiss down her neck and shoulder, move slowly, give her time to get used to his closeness and make his way down her body to her breasts. Lower even, if he just made sure that she liked it. She would feel his scars, though. She would probably also feel just how aroused he was from being close to her. His cock was aching in his breeches, and he kept himself carefully covered with the linen and blankets. He didn’t want her to be scared by his reaction or withdraw from his affections.

He just wanted her so much. Worse, he wanted her to want too, to desire his touch but he was never sure if she would really welcome it. In the end, he didn’t do any of the things he had on his mind. He just pulled her in and settled her close to him for the night.

She wasn’t of a mind to sleep, though. Instead, she put a protective hand over her belly and hesitantly started. “Sandor, you once said that as soon as my child is here, all of Westeros will be able to see the truth of its parentage.”

He’d been laying there contently, ready to go to sleep with his arms around her. Her sudden desire to talk about her babe had taken him by surprise. So, he just said. “They sure will.”

That answer hadn’t made her happy. Moving from his arms, she sat up and looked down on him. “What will I do? I can’t raise a bastard looking like a Lannister at Casterly Rock.”

He didn’t quite understand what she was on about, and all he had to offer was the truth. “Figured that out on your own, did you? Of course, you can’t rear a bastard. Married women don’t have bastards.”

By now, she had put some distance between them, withdrawing from him. “I thought I might take the babe to Winterfell then, to grow up there. Surely this wouldn’t cause offense.”

That pulled him out of his contentment. He hadn’t thought about her leaving in days, not since that night when she’d first let him touch her. “Is that what you want, little bird?”

“Yes, more than anything. Winterfell is safe. As you said, my child’s in danger here and there’s nothing to protect us.”

That had hurt more than it should have. After all, he was her husband. It was his job to protect her, his job to protect his family. Clearly, she didn’t see him as part of her family or didn’t think him capable of protecting her and the babe.

“You and the whelp can leave whenever you want.” The words were meant to sound angry, but they felt hollow. Yet, of all things, it made her smile at him. “Do you promise?”

His anger and disappointment hit him hard and his voice was a vicious snarl. “I’ve never lied to you.” He turned away and when they settled on separate sides of the bed, he was carefully avoiding every touch. The next morning, Tywin sent him to investigate along the coast.

The memory still left a bitter taste in Sandor’s mouth. He always knew that she would leave him at some point. A beauty like her wasn’t meant for a brute like him. Yet, he let himself be snared in by her. He was a fool to ever have hoped for more.

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The moon hung in the window, casting his bright light on the bed and keeping Sansa awake. Though to tell the truth, she hadn’t slept well since Sandor left. He’d been silent and grumpy on the morning of his departure and hadn’t talked to her, not even to say farewell.

The evening before had been pleasant, though. They’d gone to bed and, like usually, he’d started touching her. She’d come to love this part of the evening, when he’d give her his full attention and seemed to revel in caressing her almost as much as she enjoyed being caressed. At first, she’d been surprised by his gentleness. He talked so rough but touched her so carefully. It made her feel warm and breathless and a few other things she’d never admit to out loud.

Sometimes she wished he would do more, kiss her or even ask her to undress for him. So far, he never had, and neither did he touch her below the waist. He probably didn’t like to think of another man’s child inside her. Maybe he was waiting until her babe was out, and it will make more sense for him to lay with her. He must want his own sons and he wouldn’t get them off her now. At best, he would be indifferent towards her first-born. At worst, he would want the babe gone.

That night, when he seemed so content and calm, she had to ask about her child. She broached the subject carefully, knowing that he wouldn’t like it. She just needed to know that he wouldn’t let them take the child from her. It hadn’t gone well but, in the end, he had promised that she could send the babe to Winterfell. For now, that was enough. Winterfell was far from Casterly Rock, so far that even a blond and green-eyed Hill would be safe. So far that Sansa would hardly get to see her own child, even if Sandor let her visit often. Sansa fell asleep wishing that her babe would be a girl, a little girl that looked like Arya and nothing like the lions of Casterly Rock.

Sandor returned five days later just before the sun went down and the rain let up. Sansa went down to the stables with Teya and Lady to meet him. She wanted him to know that she’d been thinking about him, praying for his safe return. The evenings had been lonely and, strangely enough, she’d even missed his grumpy conversation.

Her appearance at the stables caused some whispers among the men, all of whom seemed to know who she was. Sandor only nodded at her, though, and told her not to wait for him. He had a duty to Lord Tywin first and it would be a long while before he was done. Then he turned to lead his horse away, leaving Sansa standing in the drizzle.

########################

 _Why had she come down to the stables? It’s cold and wet and she should be sitting in front of a fire, not standing around in the rain._ Sandor had been glad when they finally made the castle. Thanks to the rain, the expedition had turned unpleasant on top of being useless. He was due for a hot meal and a bath. Then, after giving Tywin his report, he’d crawl into bed with his wife, ready to pretend that their last conversation never happened. None of his plans included Sansa waiting around for him in this weather. _Foolish bird._

He didn’t bring Stranger into the stable, choosing to let the men finish first. His horse didn’t mix well with other horses and the stable boys were useless with him. He tethered the black stallion on the outside and while he worked on brushing him down, he heard the men boasting about their plans for the night.

“…keep your spiced wine. I’ll find myself a cheap whore to warm me up.” They laughed and another voice said. “I’ll keep the wine and find my wife. Don’t need no whore when you’re married and can get if for free.” Back came, “Your wife’s ugly, wouldn’t want to fuck that if I was being paid.” At that, a small scuffle appeared to break out, sounds of men jostling and pushing each other coming through the open window. They were so loud that he almost didn’t hear the footsteps behind him.

Whirling around, he found Sansa standing behind him, Lady next to her. He just meant to ask what she was doing, when a third voice rose over the noise. “Know who’s wife’s not ugly?” A hush fell over the men inside the stable, even the fighting stopped. “Well, you saw her in the yard. Now, that’s a wench I’d pay good money to fuck.”

Sansa was still looking at him, her eyes going round at the comment. _What did she expect, coming here when we are just coming home?_ Grimly, Sandor looked her in the eye, willing her to understand that the desires of men had little to do with the songs of courtly love she liked so much.

Inside the stable, the men carried on with their gossiping. “Can’t believe the ugly dog got such a beauty. You think she only lets him poke her when it’s dark?” Another man laughed. “You think a woman like that would ever let a brute like him fuck her willingly?” Someone spat. “Such a waste of a lovely girl.”

Outside, Sandor and Sansa were still staring at each other. Sansa looked increasingly horrified, her mouth dropping open and her hands knotting in her skirts. _Got more than you bargained for, did you, little bird?_

Oblivious to it all, the men continued. “A serving girl once told me that none of the wenches at the castle would have him, not even for coin. Couldn’t imagine kissing his burned off face.” Sandor was determined not to break eye contact with Sansa, not to react to his worst fears and pains being spelled out for her, but his heart was beating wildly, and he wished he was anywhere but here.

“Can you imagine such a beautiful woman lying under such a brute?” One man snorted. “He probably fucks like a dog. The girl would like that, no need to look at him then.” That brought out some laughter from the others. “You think she would open her legs for someone else when he’s away? She must be gagging for a man she can actually look at.”

That got Sansa moving. Still looking at him, she raised her hands to cover her mouth, shocked. Then, without a word, she turned on her heels and ran back towards the castle. Sandor watched her go, unwilling to move, unwilling to think about what just happened. Inside the men were still talking, but Sandor didn’t care any longer. He was done. It was time he gave Tywin his report and crawled into a wineskin. He hoped Stranger trampled whichever man tried to put him away.

########################

For all that she’d missed Sandor while he was away, now that he was back it was as if he wasn’t here at all. He avoided her, avoided looking at her, avoided talking to her, and avoided touching her when they went to bed. When she asked a question, his answer was gruff and dismissive.

 _It’s that ugly conversation we heard down at the stables. How could they say such horrible things?_ She only meant to ask him whether she could prepare a bath for him or a hot meal. That’s what wives did for their returning husbands. Instead, she stumbled into an ugly bit of gossip among the men-at-arms.

The worst part was that none of it was true, but Sandor had looked at her so grimly as if he suspected that she secretly agreed with them. His eyes had been hard, daring her to say something. In the end, it had been easier not to, running from that ugly place instead.

However, now she hardly saw her husband and all the easy familiarity and the bit of tenderness between them had vanished without a trace. _It must be because of that ugly talk. But they were wrong, so wrong._ Sansa mulled it over for several days and finally reached the only logical conclusion. For once, she didn’t blame herself.

The men’s words had been ugly but they talked as if they would be happy to bed her. _As if I’d want any of them._ Still, that meant it wasn’t her, it was _him_. She’d seen it before, when he was hurt or embarrassed he lashed out. The problem was that _he_ believed everything the men had been saying that night. He used his anger and indifference to mask his own insecurities.

Once she worked it out, it was so easy to see. It was in the way he brushed his hair to hide his scars, how he didn’t want to eat with her, hesitated before giving her a gift, and only touched her in the growing darkness. It wasn’t dislike for her, or resentment over being given a used wife. He was being cautious, always conscious that he might be rebuffed. She remembered how he’d stayed away for three nights after he thought she’d rejected him and how he’d called himself hideous.

The realization made Sansa weak with relief. Then, realization set in. If he wouldn’t approach her, she’d have to approach him. It was up to her to move the marriage along. _Did ever a woman have to herd her husband into the marriage bed?_ The thought about being so forward made her nervous, but also strangely excited. She didn’t know where to start, but the matter was important enough that she would risk asking for advice. And she had just the person to ask.

“Teya, you once said that men always like pretty women. Remember?” Her maid was trying to get a fire going to banish the crisp autumn morning creeping into the chamber. Muttering at the failing sparks, Teya said. “They sure do.”

 “What if they need some help to realize that the pretty woman likes them back?” Holding her breath, Sansa waited for Teya’s teasing. She didn’t disappoint. “Is that big husband of yours being shy?”

Sansa tried to look sternly. “You must keep silent about what I’m going to say.” At Teya’s nod, she carried on. “I need a word of advice. He’s been avoiding me, but I think he wouldn’t if he knew that he didn’t have to. You understand what I’m saying?”

“I understand that noble folks muck up even the simplest things.” Teya was nothing if not true to herself. “You’re saying you like him but he doesn’t know. My advice is to stop waiting and push the matter. Men are dense, sometimes.”

That was exactly what Sansa was after. “But how?”

Looking up from the fire place, Teya grinned at her. “Wait for him in bed, naked. That should do it.”

Sansa wasn’t even surprised. “No, absolutely not. I’m not sure I want to go quite that far. It needs to be subtler than that.”

“Men don’t understand subtle. But if you insist?” Sansa nodded and Teya sighed. “Just don’t try to solve it all with _talking_.” From then on, it was just Teya making suggestions and giving her detailed instructions while Sansa sat next to her, blushing furiously.

########################

When he arrived for dinner, everything was waiting for him as it always was, food and drink on the table, the little bird sitting next to it. Yet, something was different. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but as soon as he stepped through the door, he got the uneasy feeling that a trap had just snapped shut. That was ludicrous, of course. Shrugging off the tension, he went to wash himself in the bed chamber. As he sat at the table, however, the feeling came creeping back.

“Sandor, I’m happy you’re here.” Sansa smiled at him. Her hair was down and her eyes seemed very bright, her face fairly glowing. Still smiling, she stepped up next to him and spooned food on his plate. His gaze travelled slowly down her face and throat, further down until it rested on her cleavage. Bent close as she was, he could see right down the front of her dress. He blinked.

She lingered next to him but even when she sat back down, he could still see the swell of her breasts. _It’s the dress_. It showed so much of her, her throat, the white skin of her shoulders and arms. The fabric dipped low in the front, exposing the valley between her full mounds and quite a bit of her soft flesh, too. The yellow glass bird was resting between her breasts and whenever she stirred, it kissed her moving chest. His mouth went dry. Hastily, he turned his gaze away and began to eat.

“I’m glad you came back safely to me.” Sandor meant to raise his gaze to her face but it got stuck on her cleavage. Her hands were playing with the yellow bird resting there, her fingers brushing against her breasts every now and then. “It was lonely while you were gone.” Leaning close, she put one hand on his arm. “Was it terrible out there during this weather?”

He looked at her fingers on his arm and swallowed. “No, we weren’t long.” His voice was hoarser than usual and the words gruff. Sansa wasn’t put off, though, sitting closer so her breasts brushed against his arm every so often. The feeling that something was going on grew stronger. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

The little bird was back to chirping and smiling sweetly. “I hope you missed me at least a bit.” She looked at him with large blue eyes and he forgot that something was bugging him. Sansa carried on but he didn’t know what she was talking about. His eyes were on her breasts, he couldn’t help it. At least, Sansa was oblivious to his wandering attention, chatting on so animatedly she was bouncing in her seat every now and then. The yellow glass bird took flight as her teats bounced with her, not constrained at the least by her dress. At every bounce he thought her bosom would finally spill from her dress. Dazed, Sandor watched her move.

After dinner, he sat down to sharpen a few of his blades, but his eyes were glued to the little bird. She was fluttering around him, touching him in passing while she set their dinner out for the servants to fetch and got Lady settled for the night. When she was done, she sat on the chair next to his and leaned close, as if to talk to him intimately. The movement had her blue dress slip off her shoulder, sliding down her arm. The fabric covering her left breast followed, softly gliding lower on her skin. The exposed flesh snagged Sandor’s gaze and he took in the sight hungrily. Blindly reached for a pillow to cover his lap, dropping his knife in the process.

She mustn’t have noticed how close her dress had come to slipping off for she leaned even closer, looking at him determinedly. “I wanted to talk to you.” He glanced at her eyes quickly, but then dropped his eyes back to her body. _She’s so beautiful, and so close._ “Sandor, do you want…” Sansa broke off, biting her lips and glancing away.

 _Sandor, do you want… to kiss me?_ She looked back at him and her voice was a mere whisper. “I liked our nights together. I miss you touching me.” Her eyes dropped down his body and taking the pillow in his lap for an invitation, she moved from her chair and sat down on his thigh, putting her left hand on his chest _._

 _Sandor, do you want… to touch me?_ She was talking but he wasn’t listening. “…other night, down at the stables...” The hand on his chest wandered up to his throat, stroking his neck lightly. One hand she put on the pillow between them to balance her weight. He felt the pressure, felt her body so close to his, felt her other hand stroking his neck and playing with his hair. “…I don’t think that at all, you must…” She shifted closer, sitting right on the pillow now with both arms around his neck.

 _Sandor, do you want… to undress me?_ Without deliberate thought, his hands went around her waist. He grabbed her more tightly and shifted her in his lap, pressing her to the pillow so he could feel her weight move over his erection. _Oh gods, more._ He rocked his own hips against her, his breathing heavy and his heart thumping loudly. She raised her face to whisper in his ear. “Sandor, you’ve not been listening.” Something, there was something going on…but he couldn’t for the life of him hold on to the thought. He leaned forward to nuzzle against her hair, her neck. “What did you say, little bird?”, he whispered back.

 _Sandor, do you want… to bed me?_ Slowly, so she wouldn’t notice what he was doing, he lifted his hand to her shoulder and pulled on the blue fabric until the front of her dress unraveled completely, baring her left breast. The cool air made her nipple draw tight and turned it a deep shade of rose. She didn’t stop him, didn’t say anything, didn’t move to cover herself.

The pillow hit the floor and he slung one arm around her bottom to pull her close. He pressed his face into her hair while his other hand ghosted over her bare breasts, his palm gently cupping her fullness. She smelled so sweet, of lemons and new summer days, and she moved against him lightly, rubbing him through his breeches and holding on to him. _So good, gods, how can she not know…_

She was still talking, but he was lost, so lost in the sensation of her body. He was kneading her breast now, soft under his fingers but for her stiff nipple. His other hand pushed her against him, pushed for more friction until his cock was so hard it throbbed in time with his frantic heartbeat. She made a sound but it was all buried in a hot and heavy haze. Just a bit more, just a bit and he would…

She pulled on his hair. “Sandor.” She pulled again, sharper this time, and angled her body away from him. “Sandor. Look at me.” She kept pulling on his hair until he raised his head and blinked at her. She was still sitting on his lap with her dress undone, her hair wild around her head and his hand on her breast. Slowly, the fog cleared from his head and he realized what he was doing. His cheeks grew hot and he pulled his hand away, not meeting her eyes.

She leaned forward, though, and kissed him lightly on the jaw. “I said, don’t you think it’s time you took your wife to bed?”

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Sansa had felt so silly in her blue dress with her cleavage and swollen belly on display. She was convinced that she looked ungainly and garish but Teya had insisted on the blue gown. In the end, Sansa realized that she shouldn’t overthink their scheme, lest she would abandon it altogether. It was all she could do to follow the plan Teya had laid out for her, using the lines she’d rehearsed and trying not to die of embarrassment.

At first, she’d been worried it wouldn’t work. He didn’t react to anything she did or said, just sat there stock-still, and she’d felt like a fool. But then she’d realized that his eyes were moving, roaming over her exposed skin, following the sway of her breasts and body, transfixed like a snared animal. When he sat down to sharpen a dagger but forgot to fetch the hone, she knew it was going well. She laughed softly at the memory of the expression on his face when the dress slipped from her shoulder.

“Are you laughing at your husband, little bird?” He’d followed her to the bed chamber but remained standing in the doorway, his hands holding on to the frame. She let her eyes travel over his body, taking in his broad shoulders, thick arms and legs, lingering on the obvious bulge in his pants. “Only at your look when I lost half my dress.”

She was smiling now but to be honest, she’d been a bit worried towards the end. He hadn’t seemed to hear what she was saying and had been panting heavily, his body shaking. For a moment, she was afraid she’d pushed him too far and that he would break any moment. So, she grabbed his hair and pulled until he calmed down. 

“Did that on purpose, did you?”  _Yes, I did it. And it worked, just as Teya said it would._ “Well, someone had to do something on purpose.” She sat on the bed, feeling naked. Now that they were apart again, she was self-conscious about her state of dress.

“Would you want me to? Do something on purpose, I mean?” He approached her slowly, kneeling in front of her like he did that night he told her about his scars. Yet, the mood was different and his eyes were not sad but full of heat, their color a dark and stormy grey. His voice broke a little when he spoke, though, betraying his uncertainty. “I could make it good for you. I lost my head just now, _you made_ me lose my head, but I can have more control, make sure you’ll like it.” He looked at her intently.

 _He is eager to please me, if I let him._ She brushed her fingers against his scarred cheek and nodded. “Yes, but I don’t know how far I want… just, the men at the stable were wrong. I enjoy your touch. I want no one else in my bed.” He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his cheek, then he kissed her open palm. Looking up he asked. “Will you take off your dress, then? You’ve been trying to lose it all evening.”

“I don’t see you eager to take off any of your clothes.” Faster than she could blink, he pulled his shirt over his head and threw it to the ground. Then he removed his boots and squatted before her again. “Oh, I am eager, alright.” He put one hand on her calves, stroking lazily up her leg to her knee, taking her skirts with him. “Take it off for me, little bird, and lay down on the bed.”

Her fingers were shaking when she pushed the dress down her body and crawled onto the bed, wearing only the yellow glass bird around her throat. His eyes were wandering over her form, much as they’d been when she’d driven him to distraction with her little game. The memory brought back some of her courage and she raised her arms above her head, giving him a better view.

He looked at her face then, this scarred man with eyes full of longing. “Little bird, beautiful little bird.“ Still he didn’t move from his position on the floor. _He’s waiting for an invitation._ Nothing was more natural than to reach out to him.

He moved quickly and came to rest next to her. Bracing himself on one arm, he ran his hand through her hair, moving across her jaw and lightly stroking her cheeks and lips. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll be gentle.” He leisurely stroking down her body, running his hands past her breasts, over her stomach and hips and back up. Her skin grew warm under his touch.

Then he cupped her breast again, lazily circling one nipple with his thumb. _Oh, this is nice._ She felt her nipples growing stiff under his attention. Bringing his lips close to her ears, he whispered. “So lovely, you’re so lovely, little bird.” He brushed his lips against the skin just below her ear. Moving down her neck slowly, he kissed and nibbled her softly. _Mmh, I like this._ She felt a low pull in her belly, growing more pleasant with every kiss.  

Then his head slipped lower, lips closing over her nipples and flicking her gently with his tongue. The swift stab of pleasure between her legs surprised her and she stiffened. “Sorry, little bird.” He murmured and pulled his mouth away. “No, no. I didn’t mean…” She buried her hands in his hair and moved his head back to her breast.

He closed his lips around her again and she felt the vibration of his rumbling laugh against her skin. Then he really kissed her, and licked her, and sucked her, his tongue and lips moving over her nipples. _Oh, oh…._ It made the pleasure build between her legs, made her damp and restless.

He put one hand on her hip, then slowly let it glide to her leg. Stroking up and down her inner thigh, he moved closer to her crotch with every caress. Finally, his fingers found the hair between her legs, moving carefully through her wet curls.

Sansa let out a surprised sound and Sandor kissed her lightly on the chest. He parted her curls and gently stroked her sex, drawing his fingers through the wetness between her lips to the very top. After a few tries he found a spot that made her gasp. He started rubbing her, patiently circling her wet flesh and Sansa moaned. She felt her heart beating where he stroked her, a low throbbing that built a delicious tension. She couldn’t help herself, she moaned louder, hoping he would rub faster, harder.

He was nipping at her ear. “Little bird, let me see you.” She didn’t understand what he was asking but nodded anyway, only to murmur in protest when he pulled away. She was startled when she was pulled to the edge of the bed, Sandor kneeling before her and spreading her legs wide with his shoulders.

Alarmed, Sansa started. “Sandor, what …” Sandor kissed the inside of her knee. “Let me look. It’s all part of the plan.“ _What plan?_ He grabbed her hand and pushed it into his hair. “Pull if you want me to stop.” He started caressing her thighs with his lips, dragging his mouth across her skin and up towards her curls. “You’re red down here, and so wet for me.”

Then he moved in, burying his face between her legs. She felt his lips move across her hot flesh, up towards that place that was still throbbing with pleasure. _He can’t mean…_ He opened his mouth and licked her. Sansa forgot all about pulling him away and pushed him closer instead.  _Oh, oh, OH!_ He rubbed her with his tongue and Sansa felt the tension build again. She moaned and moved her hips to meet his caress, pushing against his mouth, seeking that impossible friction.

Sandor settled into a rhythm, driving her arousal higher and higher. She was babbling now, moaning and sobbing waiting for something, seeking something. When he thrust two fingers inside her and sucked her hard, she felt her body come apart. She cried out and, for a few moments, felt pure bliss.

When the haze of arousal receded, her sex was still pulsing and Sandor had his head buried against her thighs, groaning and trembling. Her hands were resting in his hair so she petted his head and neck, tenderly saying his name. “Sandor.” He jerked and moaned her name, Sansa not little bird, then he grew still except for his heavy breath fanning her legs.

He moved first, standing and walking to the dresser. She heard water splashing about and when he returned to the bed, he carried a wet cloth to clean her. It was all much more embarrassing now that her arousal was gone. _By the seven, how I pushed him around, how loud I was._

He was done quickly and took off his breeches, settling in the bed and covering them both with the blanket. Then he blew out the candle and drew her close, spooning her from behind and offering her his arm to rest her head.

He must have guessed at her embarrassment, because he stroked her belly and kissed her neck. “Don’t be ashamed. You’re so beautiful and you please me so much.”

“You pleased me, too. Very much.” She was glad he couldn’t see her face when she said it, her cheeks glowing. He kissed her neck again, longer this time. “I can’t give you a handsome husband, Sansa. But I can give you this. Always.” She fell asleep with their hands intertwined and resting on her stomach.

########################


	12. Birth of a Baby Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> …then comes baby in the baby carriage.

########################

Sandor woke to soft fingers tickling his chest. He opened his eyes and found the little bird hovering over him, a look of concentration on her face and her eyes fixed on her hands trailing down his torso. Memories of the evening before came rushing back, bringing with them a feeling of lazy contentment and bone-deep satisfaction.

Her fingers were wandering dangerously low and he caught her hand before she could slip it under the cover. His voice was a languid rumble. “What are you doing little bird?”

Her head jerked up and her eyes met his, widening. “Oh, I thought…” She blushed and dropped her gaze. In her mortification, she must have forgotten that she was sitting next to him stark naked. A smile tugged at his lips, it was his turn to do some ogling.

After a long moment she peeked at him. “I didn’t –” He didn’t bother raising his eyes, letting his gaze rest on her swaying breast and rounded stomach. “Oh, you!” Her free hand came up to cover her breasts. Yanking the other hand from his grip, she tried to grab the blanket, but he fisted his hand in the fabric and held on tight.

“Now little bird, how’s that fair? You already had time to watch your fill.”

She huffed. “You’ve taken your sweet time yesterday. Me? Not so much.”

She was vacillating between indignation and embarrassment and it was beyond adorable. He wanted her to have a look, a very close look even, but he enjoyed flustering her too much to stop just yet. It felt intimate and warm, somehow. “Well, what exactly do you want to see, little bird?”

She shrugged, more crestfallen than flustered. “I don’t know. Well, I’m pregnant, so I guess I must know, but not really.”

Sandor cursed himself silently. Of course, that was the extent of her experience with a man’s naked form. “Come here, then.” He reached out to draw her in, covering them both with the blanket. Settling her on his right side with one arm around her waist, he put her hands on his chest and held them fast.

“A man looks different from a woman down there, it’s–“ She pulled on his chest hair, hard. “I know that, I’m not an idiot.” _Back to indignation then._ He lowered his head and nuzzled her cheek and neck. “Well, do you also wake up wet every morning? Because I wake up hard.” She blinked, but didn’t interrupt him, so that must have been new information.

Softly he continued, “Men grow larger and hard with arousal but also in the morning hours. It doesn’t mean anything, you don’t… I don’t have to do anything about it. It will pass, usually.” Then he let go of her hands and kept nosing her hair, lightly stroking her waist with his other hand.

He felt her hesitate before she slipped her hands lower, sliding it under the blanket this time. The barest touch moved down his hard cock and reached his hair. Her fingertips briefly glided over his balls before they moved back up. He didn’t react, just let her explore, mapping him slowly with touches so cautious he barely felt them.

 “Can I see?” She sounded shy, her voice very low and her eyes glued to the spot where her arm dipped under the blanket. He kissed her below the ear. “Sure.” With his left hand he pulled the blanket off the bed, dropping it on the floor.

He heard Sansa draw in a breath. Her hand rested at the base of his cock and they both watched as she slowly dragged it up his length and swept her thumb over the tip. His breath hitched, heat unfurling in his stomach.

“It’s large. How does it fit inside your breeches or inside…” _Gods, little bird._ He hid his grin in her hair. “A beautiful woman touching his cock does that to a man, little bird.”

“Oh.” Then. “Does it feel good? Like…like it felt for me yesterday?” Her hand was back to stroking him, but not nearly hard or fast enough.

“Not the same, no. But it feels good for a man to push inside a woman.” _At least I heard it does._ “It also feels good to push inside his own hand, or someone else’s hand.” Looking down, he settled his hand over hers and closed her grip. Then he moved her hand up and squeezed at the top. It did feel good, better than when it was just his hand.

He looked at her to gauge her reaction. Her mouth had formed into a soft O and she watched intently as he pushed her fingers back down. “I like a firm touch, and the tip is the most sensitive. Just like your nub is the center for your pleasure.” She didn’t take her eyes off their intertwined fingers but nodded, then she dragged her hand back up and squeezed him. The heat in his belly intensified and he started leaking. Letting go of her hand, he buried his face in her hair, breathing her in. “Little bird, yes. Pretty little bird.”

She kept moving over him, stroking, squeezing, even rubbing the tip. His breathing became ragged and he was groaning softly into her hair, growing harder in her grip. “Please little bird, more, please, faster.” _So good, so close._ He felt his balls grow tight and started kissing her ear, her neck, her jaw. Sloppy, desperate kisses.

She turned her head and met his mouth with her own. He froze and she softly moved her lips under his, drawing in his upper lip and sweeping it with her tongue. He lost all reason. One hand came up to her head, pulling her close and opening his lips to lick into her mouth. The other went down to his cock. He closed both their hands tightly around himself, frantically thrusting up into their grip. A few moments later he was jerking and moaning into her mouth, spilling on his own stomach.  

With a grunt he fell back against the pillows, satisfaction weighing down his limps. The little bird was watching him curiously, their hands still intertwined and resting on his stomach, soiled by his spend. “I’ll clean us up, soon. I just need a moment.”

She smiled and crawled closer, cuddling up to him. “Was that..?” Sandor laughed and stroked down her back with his other hand. “Aye, that was.”

“Yesterday you didn’t…“

“I did.” _Almost came in my pants, too. I was barely able to unlace in time._ But she didn’t need to know that, a man had his dignity after all.

Sansa worried her lips with her teeth. “But you like being inside a woman even more? I mean, you’d like it better to release inside me?” _Going right for the balls, little bird._ He avoided a direct answer. “I do want that. More than anything. But not right away. I’ll not hurt you and when we try, if you say stop it will stop.” She accepted his words with a tender kiss to his mouth.

########################

Sansa liked to think of that first night as the night when her marriage really began. Objectively, not much changed. Sandor was still gone most of the time for training and fighting. She was still sitting in the Lannister’s castle with a swelling belly and her husband was still gruff with her, but now she could feel the tenderness underneath his rough words. He paid her so much attention, touched her constantly, watched her openly, teased and smiled. He showed up in their room as soon as he could, sometimes hours before dinner and sometimes just to seek her out in the afternoon. Of course, more often than not, he had very specific plans to get her naked when he appeared.

Sansa never expected to like her husband’s attention so much but, by the seven, she did. Some of it scandalized her, especially when Sandor asked her for instructions, insisting that she show him where to touch, tell him when to move and when to stop, and to take her time when she didn’t know herself. He, by contrast, wasn’t shy at all about asking for what he wanted.

She was equally aroused and embarrassed by the memory of that one time he didn’t even wait to undress her. She’d been waiting for him, impatiently thinking about how long it would be until they’d be ready to go to bed. When she asked if he was hungry, he said yes but didn’t sit on his chair. Instead, he dropped to his knees in front of her and pushed up her skirts, telling her exactly what he was hungry for. He made her scream with pleasure right there at the dinner table, with his head under her skirts and her legs over his shoulders.

Another time, he’d walked in on her changing her gown. He sent Teya out on some fool’s errand and then had her sit in his lap, naked. Leisurely, they explored each other, Sansa rubbing herself against him. It was the kissing that he liked best, though, on the mouth, facing each other. In this at least, Sansa felt like she had more experience than Sandor. He enjoyed everything she did, brushing her lips against his, nibbling, sucking on his tongue, licking him. She quickly learned that he had almost no feeling in the scarred part of his face, yet he trembled every time she moved her lips over his damaged face, nipping at his burned lips and skin.

So far, the most disconcerting thing had been when he asked her to ride his face. She hesitated at first, feeling heavy and ungainly, and it took her a long time to relax. In the end, though, he did make it good for her. When he shifted her to sit on his groin, she realized why he’d wanted this so much. He’d used his fingers on her before but no more than that. That night, with her on top, was the first time he pushed himself inside her. It didn’t last long. He rocked into her a few times, groaning her name, then his entire body tensed. She felt his seed spill in her womb and watched the pleasure wash over his face. She liked that best.

It took her a while to really enjoy it when he was inside her and he always used his hands or mouth to bring her to completion. As her pregnancy progressed, however, she grew increasingly tired and lost some of her appetite for his touch. He must have realized it, too. One morning, she woke to him stroking himself off quickly and quietly. He seemed a bit embarrassed to be caught and gruffly explained, “I have to, little bird, sometimes. Otherwise I’d be bothering you night and day.” He still held her, though, and she would later come to think of these embraces as the moment she started to fall in love with her husband. She didn’t recognize it at first, it was so unexpected, not comparable at all with the fluttering fancies she used to carry for handsome knights.

One night, she was falling asleep in his arms, when his question roused her from her drowsy state. “What will you name the child, little bird?”

“Minisa,” she offered.

 “That’s pretty.” They were silent for a while. When she didn’t say anything else, he probed. “And if it’s a boy?”

A sigh left her. “Rickard, after my grandfather.”

He began drawing lazy patterns across her stomach. “A good name,” he said at last.

########################

 _He won’t be back in time._ She’d known that was a possibility. The weather had turned increasingly harsh over the last couple of weeks and when he was sent out over a week ago, she knew that he wouldn’t make it. Even so, it became horribly real when the contractions set in. 

They were mild in the beginning but sent her into a panicked frenzy nonetheless. Abruptly, she realized that Sandor wasn’t here to protect her, that she couldn’t call the maester, that she was surrounded by Lannisters and facing this on her own. She was pacing around the room frantically, about to lose her mind, when Teya walked in.

With a frown, she got a hold of Sansa and sat her on a chair. “Calm down you silly, goose. What are you doing?”

“Teya, it’s begun.” She grabbed on to her maid. “The seven help me, it’s started and I don’t know how to stop it and I’m all alone and I don’t know what to do and I–”

Teya nodded once. “Good. You’re due.” With that, she turned and walked right back out of the door. Sansa blinked, dumbfounded.

A few minutes later, Teya returned. “I sent a kitchen boy down to fetch the old hag, she won’t come for another ten hours, though.”

Sansa blinked again. “The old hag?”

“The midwife that husband of yours made me rustle up. He said I was not to let the maester near you during the birthing.” Teya looked at her strangely, as if she should have known that already.

“Oh, that’s …good.” Sansa bit her lip. “But what if the maester comes by anyway? With some Lannister guards? What will we do then?”

Teya shook her head. “This birthing business is melting your brain, I swear.” She looked at Sansa. “What’s that big, bloodthirsty beast for? Keeping your feet warm during labor? Put her at the door, she’ll keep everyone out.”

Reassured, Sansa slumped in her chair. “Yes, yes, that’s right, I–” She was interrupted by another weak contraction. Something else occurred to her. “Uhm, did you say ten hours?”

Teya sighed. “Childbirth is a lengthy business. The real work won’t begin for at least that long.”

That sobered Sansa. “Then, what do we do now?”

Teya shrugged. “Do you want to play come-into-my-castle?”

They did not play come-into-my-castle, passing the time with needle work and singing instead. The latter was Sansa’s idea and Teya only grudgingly agreed. They were in the middle of _Six Maids in a Pool_ when a sharp contraction sent Sansa doubling over. “Ow.”

Teya jumped up from her chair, relieved. “Thank the gods, no more singing.” She shooed Sansa around the chamber. “Keep walking until the midwife arrives, that will speed things along. No need to take the entire night.” Then she spread some blankets on the floor while Sansa wandered around forlornly.

The midwife knocked on the door at the same time the water came gushing down Sansa’s legs. She had Sansa lie down, immediately – “no, not the featherbed” – had her strip – “can’t pull the babe out through your underskirts” – pushed her hands between her legs – “this will get worse before it gets better” – and said, “First time? First time ‘s always the trickiest.”

The old woman had withered skin and white hair, but strong hands and an even stronger voice, instructing Teya to fetch water and linen and telling Sansa to relax. It did get worse, a lot worse and despite what Teya might have thought, it lasted the entire night. During the worst of it, Sansa thought of Sandor. She wished he was here, his touch always made her feel better. That was silly of course, even if he was at Casterly Rock, he wouldn’t be here with her. This was a woman’s battle.

Her babe was born in the hour of the wolf, coming out squealing. Sansa fell back on the blankets, still panting, and relief washed over her. _It’s done._ “What is it?” The midwife was busy checking the child’s breathing and the movement of its limbs. “It’s healthy, that’s what it is.” She sounded satisfied.

With both Sansa and the child cleaned up, they were settled on the bed, the infant lying on her stomach. Sansa discovered that it was a boy. He was tiny and his eyes were closed, and even though Sansa had hoped for a girl with all her might, she fell in love right then. _Nothing for it now but hope for the best._

The midwife helped her through the first feeding and gave her advice on proper care, muttering that she should tell her husband to leave her alone for at least a moon. Sansa barely listened, eyes on her son and heart in her throat. When the old woman was gone, Sansa called Lady over from the door. “Come here girl, meet my son.” Lady put her head on the bed and nudged her leg with her cold nose. Teya rolled her eyes at the wolf, but promised that she would stay with Sansa, on a pallet on the floor, until Sandor returned.

Sansa slept, roused every few hours by her son’s crying. She’d feed him and drift back to sleep soon after. Teya cleaned the room and had a cold meal waiting for Sansa when she got out of bed around midday. They spent the afternoon away, taking turns holding and cooing over the babe. In the middle of a discussion about where to find a cradle, a knock sounded from the door.

The maester stood on the other side, holding a book and a quill in his hand. Lady rose from her place at the fire, padding over to Sansa’s side. The maester swallowed nervously. “Lady Sansa, if you would…”

All happiness drained from Sansa. _It’s the Lannisters._ _They’re coming for my child._  “What is it you want, maester?” Her voice was deceptively gentle, but Lady lowered her head and growled, teeth bared. Sansa had learned her lesson from his last visit and put a protective arm around her son, her mind racing through her options.

Teya opened the door wider. “’S alright, m’lady. Your husband told me to expect him at this point.”

That reassured Sansa, but not much. Old fears came crawling back. “Whatever for, Teya?” Her maid shrugged. “He didn’t say. Just to let him in.” _He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t break his promise to me._ Sansa clung to that thought as she watched the maester settle into the chair farthest from her. He eyed the wolf uneasily and Sansa took comfort from Lady’s weight against her legs.

The maester cleared his throat. “I hope you and, ah, your child are well, Lady Sansa. Is it a girl or a boy?”

Sansa tightened her arms around her son. “Quite well, thank you,” was all she said. She let the silence answer his question.

 “I must say that I advised him against this. Especially if it would turn out to be a boy. It’s folly, that’s what it is, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“What did you come for, maester?”

“To record the birth of your child. It’s custom to do so for the noble families, even the lower houses.” His expression told quite clearly what he thought of that. “What’s the name again?” he asked, quill poised over the open leather-bound book in his lap.

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh, before he left, your husband barged into my chamber, quite rudely I might say. He reminded me that married women don’t have bastards. In case I might forget, he said. Forget! As if I have ever forgotten as much as a footnote to the laws of Westeros.”

His words fueled Sansa’s alarm and she lost the last of her patience. “I. Do. Not. Understand.”

The maester gave a heavy sigh. “You know the laws and customs of Westeros, Lady Sansa?”

Sansa was too anxious for this nitpicking. “What?”

Another sigh. “By law, any child you bear is assumed to be your husbands. Of course, any man with reason to suspect that to be untrue can contest the paternity, petitioning the king to disinherit the child. Your husband sought me out to tell me that he would not contest.” He let that sink in. “I assured him that a formal appeal would hardly be necessary in this case. Everybody knows it’s not his get. Yet, he said no contest.” He glanced at the child in her arms briefly. “Name?”

Confused, Sansa answered automatically. “Rickard.”

The quill dipped down and scratched over the parchment. When he was done, the maester snapped the book shut and rose from his chair. “Congratulations, Lady Sansa. You’ve just given your husband an heir.

“I’m also to let you know that Lord Tywin requested to see the bastard should it be a boy. Since there is no bastard, I’m sure his Lordship will be satisfied.” His mouth twitched. “A word of advice, Lady Sansa. Keep in mind that House Clegane serves House Lannister.”

########################

A raven flew to Winterfell that night, reaching the North weeks later and bearing the news of Lady and Lord Stark’s first grandchild, Rickard Clegane.

When Ned read the small scroll to his wife and eldest son, disbelieving silence fell in the Stark family solar.

“It’s a boy.” Ned murmured. “No man accepts another man’s son as his firstborn. Even if he has more sons, he’ll never be able to raise them above the first.“

Catelyn drew in a sharp breath. “You don’t think…”

“I don’t see how. Sansa claimed it was a knight, a blond one. A Lannister.” He looked pained. “But he was at Casterly Rock and no one knows where he was during the night. He even missed his joust that day.”

Robb caught on, horrified. “You mean-“

Ned nodded grimly. “It could have been him. It certainly would explain why he’s willing to acknowledge the child – it’s his.”

################

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ################  
> So, if this story is too sweet for you, let me know. This is where I could turn the plot, reveal that all this happened according to Sandor’s evil plan, then have him pull a Gregor and murder Sansa. He’d keep the child that was his to begin with, raising it to be another rabid Lannister dog. Just sayin’.  
> ################  
>   
> Kidding! o.O Don’t think it would even work at this point.


	13. Winterfell To The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks send a search and rescue team. And an execution squad.  
> ########################

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too much? Too little? Let me know.   
> ########################

######################## 

It had been a cold and wet ride from the coast, Sandor’s somber mood coloring the night black despite the moon lighting their way. No ravens came to men on the road and he was dreading the news he might find on his return. _When have the gods ever smiled down on me?_ In his experience, everything turned to shit sooner or later. He didn’t need to learn that lesson again by finding his chamber empty and the bed cold as a grave. So, as soon as they reached Lannisport, he left his men behind and turned into a narrow alley.

When Teya had told him that she’d found a midwife, he’d gone to see her himself. He’d figured some coin upfront would go a long way to properly motivate the woman. Making her fear his anger hadn’t hurt either. Even her little hut seemed to cower before him as Sandor approached. Stranger’s hoofbeats assaulted the crumbling stone as Sandor rode right up to the lowest shutter and slammed the pommel of his sword against the wood.

A few moments later, the shutters were thrown open and an old woman poked her head out, burning tallow in hand. “Still as rude as last time, I see.” Her eyes twitched uneasily as she took in his form. “What is it you want?”

“What do you think I want?” He must have looked like the Stranger to her, a giant sitting on black horse, clad in dark steel, his voice no more than a rasp distorted by his dog’s helm. He didn’t care. He wanted her scared, as scared as he was. “How’s my wife? My child? Did you do as you were told?” He rode closer, forcing Stranger to trip sideways towards the window.

“Your wife? Eh, what do I know? Haven’t see her since the birth. You’d get fresher news up in your castle.”

“So the whelp came out healthy? Sansa too?”

“When I left her, she had a fat babe suckling at her teat. Seemed fine then.”

Sandor relaxed his fist around the reins and his courser stomped, making the woman flinch. “Tell me.”

She clicked her tongue. “What’s to say? It lasted the night but she got a healthy boy out of it, so I guess it was worth the trouble. She is young and strong and not like to catch the childbed fever.” The corners of her mouth turned down. “If anything, she’s too young. If you want to keep her, take care not to put another child in her too soon. That’s all.” Sandor nodded and turned Stranger away without another word.

“Noble folks! Always think everyone else lives to serve them.” Her muttering followed him around the corner but what were the words of an old woman against the life of a wife and a son?

########################

The crying of a baby woke them both. Sandor was still shaking off sleep when Sansa lit a candle and picked up the babe. Sandor watched as she put it to the breast and sat on the edge of the mattress. Looking over her shoulders at Sandor, she said, ”Go back to sleep. He just needs to eat.”

Ignoring her words, he moved to sit behind her, cradling her body between his legs. He put one arm around her middle and pulled her against his chest. Looking down, he beheld his son for the first time. The babe was drinking noisily, his mouth closed around the better part of Sansa’s small breast. Sandor kissed Sansa’s neck, dropping his voice to a soft murmur. “Let me hold him.”

At her nod, he slipped his arms under hers. “You need to support his head and hold him close,” Sansa arranged his arms, “like this.”

“Wouldn’t want him to lose that pretty teat.” Chuckling, he rested his cheek against her hair and watched as she fussed over the babe. When she was satisfied, Sandor carefully accepted the boy’s weight from Sansa, holding him to her breast. The child’s eyes were closed and his tiny hands fisted in the air. _He’s so small. How can something so small even be alive?_

Only the smacking of lips against a full breast disturbed the quiet. After a while, the boy let go of Sansa’s nipple and opened his eyes. Captivated, Sandor watched him kick his arms and legs. “He’s got blue eyes, darker than yours though.”

She nodded against his cheek. “He’s blond, too.”

“Blond? He’s got no hair. For all we know, it could be blue.”

Sansa snorted. “Nonsense. Now, put him back on my breast.”

The boy latched on immediately, pulling hungrily. “Greedy little bugger.”

“Just like his father.” Sandor froze, but Sansa continued. “Thank you, Sandor. It’s more than I could have asked for.” _His father. She means me._

He looked down on them and it struck him that in his arms he held his son and wife. _His_ family. The thought felt hot and cold at once, warming his chest and twisting his stomach into knots. _I’m not my brother. This Clegane family will be different. I can do this right._

Sandor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “That’s why they married you to me, to give him a name.” He turned his face into her soft locks. “Are you content with the boy, then?”

She hesitated for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t exactly ask for him. No one would blame you if you didn’t want him.” _Just like you didn’t ask for your husband. And no one would blame you if you didn’t want him, either._

Sansa shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. I love him. How could I not?” Sandor tightened his arms around her. _Calm down, you fool dog, she meant the boy_. Silently they watched their son nurse until he dropped off to sleep.

######################

The wailing woke them several times during the night but was most insistent in the early morning hours. The boy didn’t stop crying, not matter what Sansa did. After a while, the door opened and Teya walked in, taking the child from Sansa. Lady followed closely on her heels, wagging her tail and moving around restlessly, amber eyes on the crying babe. Sansa was getting dressed while Teya tried to change the boy’s swaddling clothes. He was fought back, though, so Sansa took over, only half dressed. Through it all, the boy cried, Lady huffed, and Teya cursed. Confused, Sandor watched the unfurling chaos and rubbed his face. “Little bird, what’s going on?”

She gave him a quick glance. “It’s always like this in the mornings. And during the days. And the nights, mostly. Just give me a moment to settle him down.”

“Is everything alright?” Sandor couldn’t really see the child, still snuggled in his swaddling clothes as he was.

“Oh yes, the midwife said this is normal.” Sansa sighed and smiled in the same breath. “I haven’t slept an entire night since his birth. That’s why Teya stays here to help.” She worried her lips with her teeth, a frown on her face. “Maybe I should move the crib to the other room and take Teya’s pallet now that you’re back. You probably don’t want to sleep in the same room with us.”

Sandor didn’t like the sound of that. “I thought it was the children sleeping in the nursery.”

Sansa shook her head. “He’s too small. After a year, perhaps.” _A year? Buggering hells, how long does it take a babe to grow?_ ~~~~

Sandor wasn’t sure what he expected, but he certainly wasn’t ready for what he got. The child took up most of Sansa’s time and when she wasn’t feeding him, or cleaning him, or rocking him, she was exhausted and fell asleep until the child woke her again. She tried to sit with Sandor during dinner, only to nod off quickly. Usually, he had to carry her to bed.

They didn’t touch the way they had before the child either, and he couldn’t remember the last time she kissed him. One night, when the babe was sleeping, he tried to pull her close, but she was too tired. When he tried to hold her, she told him that she’d been carrying Rickard all day and needed space.

He only touched her when he helped her nurse the babe at night. Even so, half the time Sansa rose to calm the crying child the boy wasn’t even hungry. On bad nights, Sandor moved to Teya’s old pallet in the other room to get enough sleep. It all got increasingly frustrating.

In the end, he went to ask for advice from the only person he could think of. “So, I have a family for all the bloody good it does me.”

“Curious choice, to ask about child rearing in a whore house.” Saria laughed. “Don’t give me that look. You surprise me, is all.”

Sandor kept glaring at her. “You told me I could get her to enjoy my touch. Lately, it doesn’t look like she enjoys anything. She moves with as much spirit as the dead.”

“Does she have a wet nurse?”

Sandor shook his head. “Doesn’t want one. She’s got a lady’s maid, though. Well, a butcher’s daughter to tell it true.” He paused. “I think she’s sick. She looks pale and weak.”

Saria chuckled. “Your wife’s fine, just exhausted. She does what all young mothers do: too much. For a change, someone else should rush when the child cries. You can do it. Even a butcher’s daughter can do it.”

That sounded too easy. “You’re telling me she doesn’t sleep enough, is all?”

“Not just that, no.” Saria considered. “What does your wife enjoy? Not the babe, something else she loved before.”

“Songs and needlework. The market, I think.” That’s all he knew about, anyways.

Saria gave a nod. “As soon as she has enough time to do some of these things again, you may make demands on her time. Think about how you’ll make that happen.”

It took Sandor a while to figure it out. First, he had to convince Sansa that she could trust him alone with the babe. “I’m good with pups. Can’t be that much different.” Sansa stared at him, wide-eyed. He smiled and teasingly pulled on her hair. Despite her initial reservations, he learned how to hold the boy, how to rock him, and how to settle him to sleep against his chest. To their surprise, the boy was much calmer in his arms and fell asleep more easily.

He told Teya to learn how to take care of the child, so Sansa could sleep during the day. During the night, he got up to calm the babe whenever his care would suffice. In the afternoons, he stopped by their chamber and sent Sansa to sleep. He took the boy and Lady to the yard for an hour, setting the wolf up for some sport and keeping the boy warm under his cloak.

He did anything he could think of but sometimes, when the boy just wouldn’t stop crying and they were all at their wit’s end, he couldn’t help but think how a dog would have been so much easier. At least, his efforts solved one problem. Now he was often too tired to think about the lack of intimacy. Sometimes he was even too tired to worry about what it meant for his marriage.

########################

Sandor stepped into the room and froze with one foot still in the corridor. It was too quiet. If he’d learned one thing, it was that a babe was rarely quiet. He looked around suspiciously.

“I sent Teya to pick flowers in the garden. She’s taking Rickard for some fresh air.” Sansa was sitting in the warm glow of the afternoon sun falling through the window, needlework in her lap.

Sandor hesitated in the door. “I leave you to get some rest, then.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I sleep during the nights, then Teya tells me to sleep in the mornings and you in the afternoons. If I must do any more sleeping, I’ll die of boredom.” She ripped the thread with her teeth and laid the fabric aside. “Why don’t you sit with me for a bit. I’ve got wine.”

She poured him half a cup as he settled into the chair next to her. “Sandor, we hardly talk. How are you?” He grunted and drank his wine.

She carried on, “I worry that you do too much around here.”

He set down his cup. “We’ll be moving out again soon, little bird.” _And I’ll worry when we do._ “Until then, I don’t want you to run yourself ragged.”

She was looking at him, smiling. “I don’t feel very ragged.” She brushed her fingers against his cheeks, her blue eyes seeking his. Simple as that, the old familiarity fell back into place. Desire flared and he reached for her as she lifted her skirts to sit in his lap, arms circling his neck and lips meeting his.

Her sweet taste, her weight on him, her warm body pressed so close – the pleasure of it mixed with the pain of the lonely months she’d forgotten him. Her lips moved softly against him, her tongue licking him, stealing into his mouth. _Sweet Sansa, only woman to ever kiss me. Please remember me._ She pressed her hand against his ruined cheek and he shuddered. _Please love me. Please._

Pulling away, he kissed down her neck. “Sansa, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

Her body was soft and supple against his, her voice tender. “I know, I know.”

He pulled her close, pushing her groin against his and rocking himself into her. Desperately, he tore on her laced-up dress, ripping the fabric and baring her breasts. They were larger than he remembered. Carefully, he ran his fingers over them, learning them. _So beautiful, always so beautiful._

She kissed his burned ear. “Sandor.” Then she drooped her hands between them, fumbling with his laces. She pushed her hand down his breeches. He jolted when she grabbed his hard flesh. “I’ve missed this, too.” Sansa sounded breathless against his ear, her hand stroking him, squeezing him just so. Sandor thrust into her hand and felt the delicious heat build in his stomach. _Yes, know me. I’m your husband._ He breathed her in, the scent of her skin and hair making him dizzy with relief and pleasure.

Suddenly, she let go and pushed away from him. Mind muddled, he watched as she grabbed a nearby pillow and dropped it on the floor. She sank to the ground, kneeling between his legs and tearing on his laces.

“Sansa, what-“ He broke off when she pulled him out, pushing his breeches down. She ran her hands along his length, rubbing the tip, then leaned forward to kiss his stomach. Looking down, all he saw was auburn hair spread across his lap and Sansa’s face against his skin, hovering right next to his hard cock. His heart missed a beat and picked up at double the pace.

“Sansa-” She kissed his cock and his voice gave out. She licked him, soft and carefully, mapping him with her tongue. She closed her mouth around him, slowly pulling him in, wet heat enclosing his flesh. She rubbed him with her lips and tongue and his heart dropped two feet, taking up its beat between his legs.

He cried out when she sucked on him, lips and tongue pressing tight, pulling. He felt the heat radiate from her mouth, spreading in his crotch, his stomach. Disbelieving, he watched her head bob slowly up and down.

Keeping his eyes on her, he buried his hands in the auburn mass in his lap, feeling her head move in the rhythm of his growing pleasure. His thighs started to tremble, and his fingers were shaking as he ran them through her hair, wanting to push deeper, wanting more of the hot, wet friction. “Sansa. Gods, Sansa, please.” _My wife. Everything._ _Please._

She kept sucking, wet and noisily, until he was babbling, and moaning, his entire body taut as a bow, shaking. _It’s too much. Not enough._ He lost control and jerked his hips up, pushing his cock deeper. Her mouth pulled on him, once, twice, and he spilled inside her mouth, white, hot pleasure washing over him, his body pulsing and shuddering.

When he grew too sensitive, he gently pulled on her hair to move her away. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head back, trying to calm his racing heart.

When he finally caught his breath, his hands were still buried in her hair, her head resting on his thigh. His voice was steel rasping over stone. “Gods, little bird. What... how...”

“You didn’t like it?”

He looked down, moving his thumb to stroke her jaw, her lips. Her eyes were impossibly blue as she returned his gaze. “Bloody hells, little bird. It’s a whore’s position. A husband doesn’t ask such of his noble wife.”

Blue eyes crinkled in good humor. “And when you push your head between my legs? Do noble husbands do that to their wives?”

He barked a laugh. “Fuck if I know. Fuck if I care.”

Sansa seemed to think the matter settled then.

########################

Sansa was humming softly to herself, mending her broken dress and every so often stealing a glance at her two men. Sandor was resting in the other chair, Rickard against his bare chest, both fast asleep. A happy content had settled in the room, making Sansa smile.

Sandor did more than she could have asked of him, and he seemed pleased with the new family he’d acquired. He loved it when Rickard laughed at him or grabbed his long hair with his chubby hands. Even more, he loved to hold Rickard to her breast. She wasn’t sure if he enjoyed looking at the boy nursing at her breast or just looking at her breast. At night, Sansa sang the babe to sleep and Sandor pretended not to listen. She knew better, though. She’d sing for Sandor too, but he never asked for a song.

Most of all, Sandor seemed pleased that she’d grown a lot more interested in the marriage bed. Rickard still took up a lot of her time and Teya was often around to help, so it had become a silly game of finding the time and place for their pleasure. One memorable evening, he’d taken her on the dinner table right among the plates and cups. Other times, she’d mounted him in bed after settling the baby back to sleep at night.

She’d figured out that he really enjoyed what she could do to him with her lips and tongue. He was never loud in bed, but when she took him into her mouth he lost all control. She learned how to make him beg and sob, how to drag his pleasure out, only to regret it when he did the same to her. One night, he’d been playing her so long, Rickard woke before they could finish. She’d been too sensitive to breast-feed right away, and it had taken a long time to settle the crying babe. Sandor had finished her a lot quicker next time.

Curious, she had asked about what it meant to fuck like a dog, as she’d heard the men call it. He’d been hesitant, explaining that it wasn’t something a man did with his wife. She had wanted to know, though, and when he’d shown her, she’d been surprised by how much she liked it. She loved how his body caged her in, dwarfed her, and made her feel sheltered and cared for. How his hands were free to run all over her, how he kissed her neck and whispered tender nothings in her ear. She also loved how he sometimes forgot himself, fucked her hard in mindless lust and spilled inside her, something he never did elsewise.

The first time he’d pulled out she’d asked why. “You’re young, little bird. There’s plenty of time for more children.” When she’d said that she would gladly give him a son, he’d replied that he had a son and didn’t need another one quite yet. 

It was all a big tangle in her head – his tender caring, his patience with the babe, the pleasure he gave her – and it made her feel all warm and soft towards this big, scarred man. _Who would have thought that I’ll like him so much?_ Content, she watched her husband and son sleep the afternoon away.

The peaceful rhythm of their life was shattered a few days later by the men from Winterfell. Teya and Lady were snoring in front of the flickering flames and Sansa was singing softly to Rickard when Sandor stepped into the room. Sansa recognized the man that followed him instantly. “Jory! What are you doing here?”

Jory was placed in front of the fire, the man faltering briefly when he saw the sleeping wolf. Teya fetched drink and food and Sansa settled in the other chair, holding her son and chatting warmly with her old friend, asking for news from the North. Sandor took up position behind her, a silent shadow.

When the pleasantries were satisfied, Jory cleared his throat. He looked at her, at the babe in her arms, then around the room and down at the wolf. “Your father sends me. I would speak with you, Lady Sansa.” His gaze flickered up to Sandor. “Alone.”

Sansa paused. “We are alone. Feel free to speak.”

Jory hesitated. “Your family misses you. Your father invites you to visit Winterfell before winter comes.”

_And spend winter in Winterfell_ , _that’s what he means_. Sansa waited for Sandor’s reaction, but none came. “I miss them, too. However, Winterfell is a long way from my husband.”

“Your father would feel reassured to see you and your son. It’s been a long time, much has happened.” Jory looked at her intently.

Sandor spoke up before Sansa could respond. “How many men did you bring?”

Jory eyed him carefully. “Four. So don’t try anything, Clegane.”

Ignoring the man, Sandor turned Sansa’s head up to look at him. “Do you trust him?”

She frowned. “Of course. I’ve known him since I was little.”

Sandor nodded. “It could work. Five men and Lady would make it safe enough to travel so far north.”

That’s not what Sansa expected him to say. “Rickard is too small. And why would I leave you?” she protested.

“The boy is big enough and winter is not yet here. Better now than later.” Sandor let go of her head. “The iron born will start their reaving soon and I’ll have to meet them. Mayhap it’ll only be for a few months, but usually they don’t lose their taste for battle so quick. It could be years before I’m back. Surely you’d be more comfortable at Winterfell.”

Sansa’s mouth dropped open. “Years? You’ll be out fighting for years?”

“It’s not real fighting. The reavers expect meek fisher folk not horsed men-at-arms. It’s chasing them up and down the coast that’s the bother.” Sandor shrugged. “It’d be better for you and the babe to be around family.”

Sansa worried her lips. _Years? How long does he expect me to stay in Winterfell?_ “I suppose. But when will we see you again?”

Sandor placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll come find you. After the reavers, Lord Tywin will have no use for me. A big man on a big horse can travel even in winter.”

“Very well then.” She turned back to Jory who seemed surprised by the quick decision. “When are we leaving?”

Teya agreed to come along if Sandor payed her in advance. Together, they packed everything they thought they’d need. Then they unpacked again when Sandor told them that it was too much. Sandor also found two gentle mares. He had Lady sleep with the rounceys for a couple of nights, until they got used to her scent. The other horses stomped nervously, though, when they showed up in the yard with her.

Jory watched them approach. “Is the wolf coming with us?”

“Don’t worry, she is harmless.”

Her attempt to be reassuring was immediately thwarted by Sandor. “She’s a bloodthirsty beast and if you touch my wife the wrong way, she’ll rip your throat out.” Jory grew pale.

Sansa sighed. “Don’t listen to him. Lady is for our protection.” She handed Jory the bundled-up baby and stepped closer to her mare. Sandor followed.

“Little bird, be careful. And send a raven when you get there, it might still reach me.” She smiled at him. Then she pulled his head down and kissed him on the mouth, in front of all the men, knowing that Sandor wouldn’t expect it. _For all that he would ask me to grip him tighter, he’s never asked for a single kiss. Silly man._

Sandor gave her a boost up on the horse. Then he held his arms out for Rickard, carefully passing the child on to Sansa. “Ride safe. I’ll see you soon.”

########################

The weather had been merciful at first, granting them mild, golden autumn days to travel. The further north they came, however, the harsher the weather turned, and Sansa was glad to see the towers of Winterfell at last.

Her mother awaited them in the yard and was quick to hug her. “Sansa, my sweet daughter.” Catelyn pulled back to look at her. “You look well, Sansa. Hardly any different from how I remember you.” That much was true. On the ride north, Sansa had lost the last of her pregnancy weight, slimming down to her maiden figure once more.

In a flurry of activity, they were ushered into the family solar. Teya had to hold on to Rickard while Sansa’s family rushed her in greeting.

Her father welcomed her warmly, saying how glad he was that she was back, and Robb followed his example. From Bran and Rickon she got hugs and Arya wanted to know if she’d seen Sandor kill anyone yet.

“No, but he’s given me a wolf, so I can do the killing myself.” She called Lady over from the corner of the room. She had grown quite a bit and was now almost as tall as Arya.

Arya looked at the animal, her breast level with Lady’s teeth. “Wow,” she said, voice reverent. “What can she do?”

Sansa petted Lady’s head affectionately. “Warm my feet. Hold out her paw when prompted and sit and lie down when told so.” Arya’s face fell. “And because Sandor insisted, she knows how to evade a sword, knife, or arrow, where to bite an armored man, how to drive a trained courser, and just in general attacks on command.”

Her family looked at her in alarm, but Arya perked up. “This is the first cool thing you’ve ever had. Can I borrow her?”

Sansa could practically see the wheels turning in her sister’s head. She’d changed so little, it made Sansa smile. “She follows my command, Arya, not yours.”

At this point, their mother got involved. “Are you sure she’s safe, Sansa? She’s awfully big for a wolfhound.”

“That’s because she’s a dire wolf. I think she’s still growing, too.” Sansa mussed Lady’s fur. “But she’s well trained and what could be safer than the Stark’s own sigil in the hall of Winterfell.” Her mother didn’t look convinced but dropped the matter.

Jon had kept to the background, waiting for the other family members to greet her. Looking at him, Sansa saw the life her son would have led had Sandor not given him a name. Always in the shadow, always a step behind the rest of the family. When Jon approached her to say how glad he was that she and the babe were well, and if she wanted to dine with just the family tonight, she pulled him close. “Of course, I want to dine with family tonight. That’s you too. Gods, Jon, I’m so sorry. Please don’t be angry with me.”

He was stiff at first but only for a moment. “I’m not angry, Sansa, of course not.” When Sansa drew back, her mother looked at her, lips pressed tightly together.

_It’s different now, mother, I am different._ “Do you want to meet your grandson, mother?”

That seemed to mollify her, so Sansa took the babe from Teya and handed him to Catelyn. “Meet Rickard Clegane.”

The rest of the family gathered around Catelyn to get a look at the child. Rickard was happily kicking the air, making gurgling noises, and Sansa felt every inch the proud mother. Her mother rocked the child for a bit. “He’s blond with grey eyes.”

Sansa nodded. “Yes. His eyes changed just recently, and I’ve been hoping he would develop more of a Stark look. There’s still time but he probably won’t.”

Catelyn frowned. “He has none of your looks. He must resemble his father.”

Taken aback, Sansa put her mother in place more sharply than intended. “His father has black hair and a frame that would put an ox to shame.” This earned her another frown.

“You can set him and his wet nurse up in the old nursery.” Her mother placed Rickon in Teya’s arms. 

Sansa laughed at Teya’s grimace. “Teya would be a terrible wet nurse. She’s my hand maiden. She’s a terrible hand maiden, too, now that I think of it.” Sansa said it fondly, though. Teya had griped all the way from Casterly Rock, yet she’d been invaluable. Her father’s men had certainly been useless around her babe. “She and Rickard will stay with me.”

Dinner was a flurry of talking and laughing, her siblings teasing Sansa mercilessly. After dinner, however, when only her parents remained, Sansa quickly learned that the uncomfortable questions were yet to come.  

“Truly, I was fine. Sandor treated me well and I was safe, mostly.” _I also think it’s rather late for your concern._

That seemed to unsettle her mother. “What do you mean by ‘mostly’?”  

They sat on cushioned chairs close to the warming fire, but you wouldn’t know it by how stiff her parents held themselves. Sansa watched them, curiously. “Well, you could have given me some warning, mother, but it was nothing that didn’t work itself out in the end.”

Carefully, her father asked, “what needed to work itself out?”

_They don’t know how much Sandor has done for me. They wouldn’t worry so much if they did._ “The maester showed up once and wanted to help me get rid of my son. I might have done it, too, had my husband not turned up to throw him out.”

Her parents shared a look. “It was Clegane that sent him away? He didn’t want you to lose the child?”

“He said it was a whore’s operation and not safe.” Sansa looked at her father defensively. “I didn’t know. I didn’t even know that it could be done.” She grabbed the glass bird around her neck, fidgeting with the little figurine. “The Lannisters threatened to take my child away should it be a boy. They didn’t want a Lannister pretender, they said.”

Her mother grasped her hands, pulling them away from the yellow bird. “Oh Sansa, we thought you would be safe in the south.” Catelyn looked distraught. “It’s good that you are back, and you’ll not have to leave again. You and the boy are safe at Winterfell.”

Gently, Sansa squeezed her mother’s hands. “We were safe at Casterly Rock, mother. Sandor acknowledged the child. There was no bastard for the Lannisters to claim.”

Her father cleared his throat. “Have you ever wondered why he acknowledged the child?”

Sansa smiled, thinking of the nights Sandor held their son to her breast. “No, I’ve never wondered. After all I’ve come to know, it makes perfect sense that he would.” _Is it so surprising? Does really no one know the man I married?_

Her mother gripped her hands tighter. “What do you know, Sansa?”

“Just…what a wife learns about her husband in marriage.” It came out more suggestive than Sansa intended and her cheeks grew hot in embarrassment. _Oh gods, please don’t ask me about the marriage bed!_ “Must we talk about this?”

Catelyn pulled her hands back. “No, Sansa, we mustn’t. Not if it causes you distress.”

Relieved, Sansa smiled at her mother, turning the conversation to Winterfell, new children and marriages, and the winter preparations.

########################

Sansa knew that her mother was upset by the changes in Sansa’s life. She couldn’t reconcile the daughter she had sent south with the woman that had returned. Yet, Catelyn hid her frustration well. She coddled her little grandson, did her best to be civil with Teya, and even petted Lady every now and again. Sometimes, though, Sansa caught her mother looking at her wistfully.

Moons passed during which Rickard turned bigger and stronger, crawling at first and then soon taking his first steps while hanging on to Lady’s pelt to stay upright. A snowy morning found the boy sleeping next to the wolf in front of the fire. Sansa was watching over them, working on a pair of leather gloves. Her sister was as hopeless as ever with a needle and Sansa had taken it upon herself to make Arya winterproof.

“Old Nan’s great-granddaughter approached me for a position.” Her mother sat at the table, the household accounts in front of her. “You remember her, Sansa? I was thinking that she would make a good lady’s maid.”

Sansa suppressed a sigh. Her mother was forever trying to provide her daughter with new gowns, new baby clothes, and new servants. She meant well, but Sansa was a married woman. It was her husband’s place to provide for her. “Teya is a wonderful lady’s maid, mother.”

Teya snorted, drawing an irritated look from Catelyn. “I have every trust in Teya. I just thought you’d like someone from Winterfell.” Dropping her voice, she finished. “And someone a bit less…direct.”

Proving Catelyn’s point, Teya retorted, “That’s not fair. M’lord pays me extra for my insolence.”

“Ha! If that was true, my husband wouldn’t be able to afford you.”

“He has to pay me a lot, that’s true.” Teya sounded proud. “More than any handmaiden earns at Winterfell for sure.”

Sansa’s mouth dropped open. “He did! He really did, that wretch.” She grabbed a pillow and pommeled Teya with it. “He got me an uncouth butcher’s daughter and she’s not even cheap.”

Teya shrieked, raising her arms to ward off Sansa’s attack. The chair fell over as Teya jumped up and the two women hopped around it, locked in a pillow fight. In the end, they sank to the floor, struggling and laughing.

“Sansa, I swear, you’re behaving worse than Arya.” Catelyn watched them, lips pursed. “Remember your place.”

“Apologies, mother.” Sobering, Sansa rose and resumed her needlework. “Teya, would you mind picking up the pillows?”

Teya snickered. “Sure. I’ve picked up pillows enough at Casterly Rock, usually when someone dropped them in front of a chair and forgot about them.”

Sansa’s felt the warmth spreading across her cheeks and down her throat. “Teya!” she hissed, but the damage was done. Her mother had dropped the quill, ink splattering on the table and a shocked expression on her face.

She stood abruptly. “Sansa, would you join me for a walk on the walls.”

Annoyed, Sansa threw Teya a dark look, but she grabbed her cloak and followed Catelyn into the light snowfall. Taking her mother’s arm, they walked the length of the castle yard in silence.

Finally, Catelyn spoke. “Sansa, I worry. Teya seems such rough company for you.”

Sansa patted her arm reassuringly. “Teya has been very helpful. I could not have asked for a better friend to stand by me.”

“I know I have been remiss in my duty. In light of the, ah, incident and your quick marriage, much has been left unsaid.” They drew to a stop, watching the snow fall on the distant forest. “Sansa, does he mistreat you? I know you don’t want to talk about this, but what does he ask of you?”

Sansa squeezed her mother’s arm gently. “My husband is good to us. He provides for us and treats us fairly.”

“You might think so, Sansa, but you wouldn’t know. There are things a man can ask of a woman, things the gods never intended. A true husband–“

“Mother, no. He isn’t–”

Speaking over her, Catelyn continued. “Only a brute would use his wife this way. Is he a brute, Sansa?”

Sansa gasped. “Mother!”

“You were always meant to be the wife of a great lord. Gentle and gracious. The gods have not been kind to you, giving you so low a husband.” Catelyn grabbed Sansa’s hand on her arm. “And we hear that he’s cruel and violent. I couldn’t bear it if you were suffering for it.” Her grip tightened. “Tell me what you know, and your father will help you. In time, you can even have another husband, a better match.”

Speechless, Sansa shook her head. She pulled her arm from her mother and stepped back. Much had changed. It seemed Sansa no longer viewed the world just as her mother did.

########################

“The boy doesn’t look like Sansa at all. His eyes are grey.”

Ned rubbed his temple with his fingers. “He could still be a Lannister – his hair is blond.”

Catelyn shook her head. “Both Arya and Jon were blond for a year before their hair turned black. The boy could easily be Clegane’s.”

“Sansa said it was a Lannister, that the man was blond.”

“Sansa isn’t the same as she was. She used to be so sweet, a perfect little lady. Now she’s prone to forget her manners and speech. She behaves boldly, crudely almost, only a wolf and an insolent handmaiden for company. Worse, her husband seems to ask humiliating things of her.” Catelyn looked away. “She could easily keep quiet because she fears him.”

Ned nodded pensively. “She did say that he prevented the maester from aborting the child. And he acknowledged the boy before the Lannisters could claim him.”

“Just so.” Catelyn softened her voice. “What if he hurt her? I want to know. Ned, please. I need to set this right, for Sansa.”

Ned’s expression turned grim. “We’ll have to confront him.”

########################

Winter had the northern lands hard in its grip, but Stranger fought bravely against the wind and the shallow layer of snow on the ground. The cold was so biting, Sandor had to light a fire during the nights, cursing the kindling when it refused to catch, and swearing even more when it did.

It was the thoughts of Sansa that kept him warm, especially the image of her kneeling naked between his legs. He’d used this memory often during the long moons spent at the coast, missing and wanting his little bird, excited whenever he thought of her eyes, her breasts, her wet cunt, her smile, yet afraid that the memories were all that he had left of her.

He wasn’t looking forward to meeting his in-laws. He hadn’t forgotten that they’d sent men to carry off his wife without asking his leave. _Lord Stark had it probably planned from the beginning. Marry away his daughter, let her whelp the child, and fetch her home when his honor was safe._

For the last six turns, the worry had been nagging at Sandor constantly. It had been good to send her north. By now, though, she might prefer the life of Lord Stark’s daughter to that of his wife. The further north he rode, the more the thought made his stomach churn.

When Stranger plodded over yet another frozen hill, he found a group of riders waiting for him. Of the six horsed men, Sandor recognized Lord Stark, his eldest son, and Jory. He drew Stranger to a halt, his courser snorting tiredly, and nodded in greeting.

“Clegane.” Lord Stark regarded him impassively. “We got your raven. Follow us.” The group turned their horses and changed course, moving further east than Sandor expected. _Bugger me,_ he thought wearily _. I might have missed the bloody castle if not for my honor guard._

They rode for a while, a dark forest growing closer but still no castle in sight. In the middle of nowhere, Stark drew his horse up. Confused, Sandor reined up next to him, watching as the Northerner’s spread out. “What’s the meaning of this?” Uneasily, he freed one hand from Stranger’s reins.

Stark turned his horse to confront Sandor, his expression as cold as the snow around them. “I will not let the hospitality of my hearth protect you from the accusations you need to face.”

_Buggering hells, what now?_ The men circled Sandor, surrounding him and pressing in. Sandor’s hand went to his sword, drawing the blade, his mind racing. He could cut down three of them, maybe four, but the men in his back would still kill him.

_The boy, he’s the weakest._ He considered the eldest Stark child for a moment, easily marking his uncertainty in the way he held his sword. Sandor urged Stranger forward, lifting his own blade. Before he could deal the blow though, he remembered that the boy was Sansa’s brother. _She’ll never forgive me for killing him, nor her father._

Sandor swore and whirled Stranger around, searching for another breach in the ranks. Before he could ride against Jory, a rope fell over his head, winding around his chest and pulling him from the saddle. He hit the ground hard, sword spilling from his hand. He struggled to his feet only to be pushed back down. The rope was pulled tight across his chest and arms, a knife settling at his throat.

Kneeling in the snow, Sandor raised his eyes to find Stark looking down on him. “Damn you, what do you want?”

“We will hear you out and give you a fair trial.” Stark’s manner was full of lordly righteousness.

 Sandor snarled. “And what do I stand accused of, oh honorable Lord Stark?”

“You raped my daughter.”

Sandor looked at him, thoughts whirling. Then he spat in the snow. “I never touched that hoyden. She was loitering around the camp in boy’s breeches. I sent her off with that bastard of yours, the Snow. If she got raped it wasn’t by me.”

That took Stark aback. “Don’t try to confuse me. Speak plainly or not at all.”

“I’m talking about that little wolf girl of yours. Not surprising if she got hurt, considering the places she goes. But I got to say, Stark, having all your daughters raped on your watch doesn’t speak well of you.”

“Mind your mouth! We’re not talking about her and you know it.” It was the voice of Stark’s eldest, followed by a boot in his back. The kick sent Sandor into the snow. _Watch it, boy, you should be dead by now._

Swearing, Sandor struggled to get back on his knees. Finally, Jory pulled him up on the rope with Lord Stark watching on. “I’m talking about Sansa, my eldest. You remember her?”

Sandor blinked, then he threw his head back and laughed. The boy stepped forward again. “You dare–“ A armored fist hit Sandor in the mouth and blood sprinkled the snow around him.

Sandor dropped his head forward, breathing heavily. “You are mad, all of you. You married her to me, Stark, remember that?”

“I didn’t know back then.” Stark sounded pained. _Funny, he didn’t get beat bloody._

“Didn’t know what? That a man fucks his wife?” Another fist to his face and Sandor grunted with pain. _This family is mad._

“No, before.” Lord Stark sounded angry now, but at least he’d motioned for his son to hold back. “You raped her that night after the tourney. She mistook you for a Lannister in the dark, but it was you. When I gave her to you in marriage, you kept your silence and acknowledged the child. And the seven help you if you’ve mistreated her since.” That left Sandor flabbergasted. _Gods, he doesn’t really believe this._ But the rage on Stark’s face said otherwise.

His own fury was rising and Sandor struggled for calm words, his voice a mere snarl. “That wasn’t me. I never laid a hand on her, not unless she wanted me to.” He knew he looked like a violent man, he _was_ a violent man, but never with the little bird.

“Then where were you that night?”

Sandor’s mouth twitched. “In the ditch beneath the tower, drunk off my ass.”

“You were close then, she got raped in the tower.”

“Not by me.” _Not by anyone else either, had you watched her._ ~~~~

“How do you know? You were pissed out of your mind. Bit of a drinking problem, I heard. Bit of a raping problem, too.” Stark was still sitting on his horse, looking down on him. _A man who knows his place. Lords and knights, liars and killers all of them._

Sandor bared his teeth, lunging forward, the ropes pulling tight. “I don’t rape women.”

“Your reputation says otherwise.” ~~~~

“If you mean to murder me, bloody well get on with it, but spare me your righteous bleating.”

Stark ignored him. “If the accusations are false, why would you acknowledge the child? Why, if it wasn’t yours?”

“The honorable Lord Stark cannot fathom another man caring less about his honor. Know what? The name Clegane means horseshit to me.”

“Don’t play games with me. By every law, that boy is your firstborn. If he isn’t your flesh, you’ll never have an heir. Your family line won’t be of your own blood. You can’t make me believe you want that.”

Stark plainly liked his fair trial on made up charges. Sandor slumped in Jory’s hold, his defiance and strength leaving him. They would believe what they wanted. “It’s not a precious family line I had in mind, it’s the regard of my own wife. For a man with a burned face and shit for reputation, that doesn’t come cheap.”

“Are you telling me you did it for her?” The disbelieve was plain in Stark’s words. “What reason would you have?”

_Aye, what reason does a man have to_ _make his wife happy? Anything to see her happy?_ Sandor chuckled bitterly. He was done with this farce. Setting his jaw, he leveled his eyes at his good father. “Move along with this shit for trial, one way or the other. I won’t admit to something I haven’t done.” _Take my life. Take my wife, my family. Take it all. I knew you would all along._

Stark was staring at him for a long moment, unmoving. It was the boy who broke the silence. “Father, perhaps–“ He was interrupted by the sounds of an approaching horse. A rider was making his way towards them, galloping at a breakneck speed.

The men only recognized her when she was almost on top of them. “Arya, what are you doing here? This is no place for you!” Stark’s voice was sharp.

The wolf girl looked at her father, then at Sandor in the snow, then at her brother, and back again at Stark. “What am I doing? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Stark made a grab for the reins of her horse. “This has nothing to do with you. Go back home.”

Defiantly, the girl turned her horse in a close circle around her father. “Sansa sent me. She noticed that you were taking too long and grew suspicious. I told her she was imagining things. Father, Robb, what in the seven hells?”

At her words, the boy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Sansa sent you?”

“Yes. And just so you know, she said that if you laid a hand on him, she’d have Lady chew your faces off.”

Silence fell, the men looking at each other. Sandor burst out laughing, spitting more blood on the white ground before breaking off in a rattling cough. “Aye, the little bird grew claws. I’ll let her sort you out.”

########################

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ned and Cat insist on being morons – thanks for your suspension of disbelief. Next chapter will be lots of Clegane/Stark interaction (the good, the bad, and the ugly). Thanks for reading!  
> ########################


	14. Dances with Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor sets out to win the frozen hearts of the Starks.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owed you all an update. So here is a super-long chapter. Don’t get smitten by it (the bloody kind, not the lovey kind, obviously).  
> Also, I am welcoming every and any critique, if you are willing.

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She rushed him as soon as he stepped into the hall, running at him in rash strides, a silly grin in place. Had he not gone to his knees to meet her, she would have bowled him over. As it was, he had to contend with the full force of her breast smacking against his and her tongue lolling over his face and neck.

“Good girl.” Sandor hummed, gripping grey fur between his fingers. “Knew you would grow to be a large beast.”

Wet boots came to stand next to them, getting in the way of Lady’s whacking tail. “For a moment I thought you were going to lose the other half of your face.”

“My animals don’t attack me.” Sandor spared Stark a quick glance. The man’s face was still as sour as the lemons in Sandor’s bag. “Who do you think trained her? In Sansa’s hands she would have grown feathers and turned into a peacock.” He pulled the wolf off his lap. “She’s enough of a preening pet as it is.”

Even as he said it, his eyes were searching for his little bird, finding her on the far side of the room. Sandor rose to his feet and stared at her, enjoying the first sight of his wife. She was clad in drab grey and looked thin, her mien fierce and her body rigid as she stood between Teya and a red-haired woman. Beautiful, immovable, and not about to run to his welcome.

 “Go to her. Go.” With a wave of his hand, Sandor sent Lady loping back across the hall to Sansa, following her at a more sedate pace, the wet footsteps of his honor guard at his back.

The closer he came, the angrier Sansa seemed. She was shaking her head, lips pressed together, while the red-haired woman whispered in her ear and clutched her arm. Sandor came to a stop a few steps in front of them. “Little bird.” _Did you miss me?_

If she heard him, she didn’t let on. Her eyes were running over his face and body. She wrenched her arm from the other woman’s grip and stepped closer, her hands hovering over his chest. To Teya she said, “fetch Maester Luwin.”

That was not what he wanted to hear. He hadn’t pushed his horse so hard to see a doddering old fool. “I need no bloody maester.” _Say that you have been waiting for me._

Sansa frowned and grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the table and pushing him into a chair. Over her shoulder she called after Teya, “and bring hot water and clean cloth.”

She looked back at Sandor, not meeting his eyes but taking inventory of his face. Sandor grimaced. It hadn’t grown any prettier since they last parted. Sansa reached out and grabbed his chin, turning his head, and started to dab at his mouth and cheek with her sleeve. The fabric came away black, making Sansa scowl.

“It’s nothing.” Sandor caught her wrists in his hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Last time I was in King’s Landing, I fell down the serpentine. Hurt more than what your brother was able to dish out.”

“Pissed on wine, no doubt.” It was no more than a mutter, but it set Sansa off like the crack of a whip. She whirled around to face her family. They were standing ten paces away, in a loose half circle. Lord Stark, Jory, and the idiot boy still in heavy fur and leather, swords at the ready on their hips, while the red-haired woman had her arms around the wolf girl. _The mother, then._

“My brother, yes.” Sansa drew her shoulders back, her face going hard and the weight of her gaze falling squarely on the boy. “What exactly were you doing to my husband, brother mine?” The words were soft, but she never took her eyes of her brother as she snipped her fingers for Lady to sit at her feet. Taking her cues from her mistress, the wolf trained her eyes on the boy, ears pricked and eager.

The boy looked at the wolf, shuffling his feet uneasily. “Nothing, it was just-“

“Leave him alone, Sansa, he did nothing wrong.” Lord Stark stepped forward, approaching Sansa and the wolf. “There were a few things we needed to talk about with Clegane.”

“Oh? Must have been grave things, indeed.” Sansa slowly stroked Lady’s head. “He usually doesn’t talk his mouth bloody.” The challenge hung in the air and Stark gave his daughter a measuring look.

“He was about to be a guest in my hall and as the Lord of Winterfell it is my duty –” He took one step too many and Lady’s head went down, ears pressed against her skull and chaps raised to expose her teeth.

Stark’s feet froze abruptly, his hand going to the pommel of his sword. “Sansa, call your wolf back. I am not about to be threatened in my own hall.”

Sansa crossed her arms. “You threatened my husband.”

“They weren’t threatening,” Sandor objected. So far, his long-missed wife hasn’t addressed him with a single word, let alone a kiss. He didn’t need the first thing she heard to be how he was pushed into the snow by a boy and a few old men. “The boy can barely hold a sword. They were lucky I played along.”

Sansa gave him an incredulous look. “Your face is covered in blood. You’re wet from head to toe.” Her voice was rising steadily until she was shouting at him. “There are rope burns on the arms of your coat.”

This wasn’t the warm and welcoming attention Sandor had been hoping for. When he’d pictured their reunion in his head, they’d always been fucking by now. Lady looked at him, just as confused at the turn the anger of her mistress had taken.

Apparently satisfied with having well and truly unmanned him, she spun around to finish off her father. “Now tell me what needed talking about so urgently.”

“Sansa, don’t raise your voice at your father.” Her mother, having kept a white-knuckled grip on the wolf girl until now, let go of one daughter to focused on the other, eyes full of reproach. “The only thing to worry about here is your lack of manners.”

Sansa lifted her chin. “I am not stupid, mother. I know you haven’t offered him guest right yet. If there is nothing to worry about, call for bread and salt. Now.” Sansa stepped between Sandor and her mother, as if she was singlehandedly defending her husband against a pack of wolves.

Sandor sighed. _Let them push you into the snow once…_

Lady had given up on keeping up with Sansa’s erratic anger and had laid her head in Sandor’s lap. He scratched her between the ears. “The only girl here to give a man some attention,” he grumbled to her. He was soaked and hungry and as far as he was concerned, her family would still be here tomorrow. He, on the other hand, wanted mulled wine, a hot bath, and soft kisses well before tomorrow.

Sansa seemed to have other priorities, though. She was poised to see this fight through, he could tell. He just hoped the Starks had the good sense to calm her down without mentioning their inane accusations. He’d seen how she struggled with the memory of her rape, crying and calling herself broken. No need to bring that up again. He couldn’t warn them without mentioning it himself, though, so he did the next best thing and looked around for some wine.

His hopeful eyes fell on the wolf girl. He motioned her over. “Are you still practicing with your sword, girl?”

That earned him a suspicious glare. “My brothers know. There’s no use ratting me out.”

“You good enough to beat your brothers?”

Her expression went gloomy. “Only Rickon, and sometimes Bran.”

Sandor nodded over to the idiot boy. He was watching them from narrowed eyes, but he was the only one to notice their little exchange. “He’s got a few weak spots. With the right moves, you could get him on his back. Bring me some wine, enough of it and quick, and I’ll show you.”

She hesitated. “You’re not lying?”

“About wine? Never.”

Sleek as a snowfox, she turned on her heels and hurried from the hall while Sandor settled in to wait. The wine arrived and when the girl wanted to talk about armor and horses, he told her to bother him tomorrow. He was drinking, the skin already half empty, thinking about the things he could do with Sansa in one of Winterfell’s famous hot springs, when her loud shout roused him.

“What?” Sansa had been imperious in her face-off with Lord and Lady Stark, but now her voice faltered “No, it wasn’t him. I told you it was a blond man. I told you it was a knight. Why would you think–”

Her mother rushed forward to hug her. “It’s just because he acknowledged the child. And kept it from Lord Lannister, his own liege. It speaks of … an investment that’s at least unusual.”

Sansa shrugged her off. Her face had gone white and her hands were trembling.

 _Bugger the seven, these fools._ Sandor stood, but too quickly. Too much wine combined with too little food had the room spinning. He held on to the table.

“Father, I told you. You made me tell you. Why would you think I was lying?” He should go to her, get her out of here, but he had to make sure he didn’t look like a stumbling drunk doing so.

“Not lying, child, but such things are hurtful. We thought maybe you didn’t remember correctly or didn’t want to know–“

“Not remember correctly? I remember everything.” _Seven hells, get moving._ He let go of the table. “I remember what he looked like, what he smelled like, and what he felt like.” She was yelling again, but at least her voice was strong and defiant, not trembling and breaking. “And I know what my own husband looks like, smells like, and feels like. It’s impossible. The size alone doesn’t add up, not even close. If it did, I probably would have bled out in the tower that very night.”

Sandor blinked. _Maybe she doesn’t need my help after all._ He sat back down, gripping his empty cup and doing his best to ignore the deafening silence that followed her statement. Some of Sansa’s hair had escaped her braid, framing her flushed face in a wild tangle, and her fists were balled at her side, her breast heaving. She looked glorious and furious, with no traces of the terrified women who had cried her heart out so many moons ago.

No one moved, everyone was staring at Sansa, stunned at the appearance of this wild fire nymph in their midst. Slowly, as her words caught up with her, her anger visibly drained away. Her face grew even redder and she raised her hands to hide her eyes, moaning softly.

 _Now she needs your help, fool._ Sandor dropped his empty cup on the floor. The sound rang hollow in the quiet, breaking the spell as everyone turned to look at him. “As I see it, you’re wasting your time on the wrong people, little bird.” He looked around the room, doing his best to appear demanding and not the least bit embarrassed. “For all his other virtues, your husband feels mostly wet and starved, and his wine cup is empty.”

Sansa drew her hands away from her face. “Of course, you need a bath and food.” She hurried over and picked up his cup. “And where is the maester? I sent Teya off ages ago.”

Her cheeks were still bright red and she didn’t quite meet his eyes, so he grabbed her waist as she bustled past and pulled her into his lap. “Calm, little bird. I’m alright and your family will learn.”

She still didn’t look at him, her eyes fixed on the cup in her fidgeting hands. “Oh, how mortifying.” She winced.

Sandor laughed softly. Pulling her closer and putting one hand on her thigh, he whispered in her ear. “I missed you little bird. For six moons, all I dreamed of was you. Glad to hear you were thinking of my attributes too.” That finally earned him a smile.

Before she could respond, Stark found his voice. “Have you no shame? You treat her like a serving wench.”

Looking up, Sandor realized that all eyes were now on him, at Sansa in his lap and her rucked up skirts. “I wouldn’t know.” Sandor said slowly. “I don’t usually have serving wenches sitting on my lap.”

“Sandor, I think–”

“Hush, little bird. I am educating your father on the difference between a servant and his wife. As things stand, there should be more bastards running about Winterfell.” That had the faces of both Starks freeze up. It was a good look for the North.

They were interrupted by Teya with the maester in tow. “Bless the seven.” With a sigh, Sansa leaped to her feet. “I want Maester Luwin to take a good look at your face before your bath. Just to make sure everything is all right.”

At that, the idiot boy cleared his throat and rubbed his nose. To the tips of his boots he said, “he might want to have a look at his ribs then, too, just to be sure.” _Fucking moron._ Sansa’s exclamation threw everything into chaos once more.

########################

Sansa entered without knocking, catching Sandor as he pulled on a wrinkled, green tunic. “How was your bath?”

“It lacked helping hands.” The reply was muffled by the fabric over his head.

“Our son had a greater need for helping hands.”

Arranging the fabric over his chest, Sandor lifted his head and found the boy in her arms. “Is that–?”

Sansa clucked her tongue. “Who else?”

“He’s a lot bigger.”

“Children grow.”

“As I remember it, children cry.” The barb did little do hide his amazement, though.

When he made to step closer, Sansa motioned for him to stay put. “Stay where you are, he’ll come to you.” She set Rickard on the floor and held his hands until he stood safely on his little legs.

Sandor crouched down, holding out his arms and watching the boy intently. When Sansa gave him a gentle push, though, her son clung to her skirts and turned away from Sandor.

“He doesn’t remember me. A hulking stranger’s probably not worth the waddle.” The corner of Sandor’s mouth lifted in a crooked smile, but it looked a little forced.

“Just wait for Lady. He goes wherever she goes.” As soon as she said her name, the wolf pushed her body through the ajar door and caught up to Sansa, nosing at Rickard. Her son giggled as he grabbed any fur he could reach, in this case the long hairs on her flank.

“Go on, call her.” Sansa said, smiling at Sandor. Still hunkering down, he called for Lady and watched the awkward dance of two disproportionate bodies joined hand to hip as the wolf tried to maneuver the little human across the room. By the time she delivered his son into his arm, Sandor was fully smiling.

“Here you are.” He stood, taking his son with him, holding him against his chest and laughing when the boy immediately grabbed for Sandor’s hair. “Maybe he does remember me.”

Enthralled by the boy pulling on his hair, Sandor walked passed Sansa without a glance. “I’m hungry little bird, let’s find that evening meal you promised me.”

“I don’t usually–“ Sansa called after him but Sandor was already out the door and down the hallway. Sansa had to hurry to catch up and make sure that he ended up in the right room.

When they sat at the fully laid table in the family solar, her mother was quick to give Sandor a disapproving frown. “As much as we love our daughter’s son,” – not Sandor’s son, Sansa noted and rolled her eyes. Arya smirked at her from across the table – “he’s usually already in the nursery when we take our evening meal.”

Sandor was settling their son on a cushion over his thighs, making sure Rickard could reach the table, and shrugged. “Not tonight.”

Catelyn’s voice grew even more clipped at the open disrespect. “We don’t hold with such liberties in this household.”

“Your family has taken the liberty to tie me up, trod me in the snow, and walk across my back. Looks like there is plenty of liberty to go around.” Sandor looked up at her. “And his table manners can’t be worse than mine.”

Catelyn rocked back in her seat. Sansa’s siblings studiously looked at the plates in front of them, trying not to breath. Her mother took table manners very seriously, but Sansa reckoned that fight was already lost before it began.

To smooth over the tension, Sansa said, “You have all met my husband, Sandor Clegane–“ at which point Rickon, apparently taking Sandor’s entrance as the beginning of open season on their mother’s sensibilities, shouted, “I haven’t!”

Sandor leveled a look at him. “And who are you, squirt?”

“Rickon Stark.”

“Aye, and I am the Lannister dog who runs rabid across the land, with a face burned off by a dragon and a brother who has eaten at least three wives.”

Rickon’s mouth dropped open.

To forestall any questions that would surely follow such a statement, Sansa quickly carried on. “There is also,” her gaze skipped fluently over Robb and landed on Jon. “Jon.”

“I’ve met Snow.” Sandor nodded at Jon who nodded back vaguely at the right time, without raising his gaze from the table. An astonishing feat of diplomacy.

As graceful as possible, Sansa continued. “This is Arya.”

Sandor grunted. “I’ve met her, too. In fact, half of your father’s accusation was that I raped her.”

Arya looked up, fiercely. “You couldn’t. I’d run you through with my sword first.”

Sandor snickered. “No, that was the point, see–“

Sansa clamed one hand down on his arm, hard, and between gritted teeth, she pushed out. “And Bran.”

Bran, bless his heart, saw a chance to launch into his favorite topic. “I will be a knight. You’re not, are you? You have ridden at tourneys, though, have you?”

Sandor raised his one brow mockingly at him. “Just like your sister. The wolf girl and a boy half her size, maybe combined you’ll be the first knight north of the neck.”

Bran snapped his mouth shut and dropped his gaze back to the table, his lip trembling dangerously. _This is not going well. At all._ Exasperated, Sansa threw up her hands.

“Maybe we should just eat,” her father finally spoke up. “And keep a civil tongue in your head while you eat my food, Clegane.”

Grasping at the opportunity with both hands, Sansa started to spoon food on her and Sandor’s plate, hoping to distract him.

Unperturbed, Sandor looked at Lord Stark. “But you’re not really good at feeding your family, are you, Stark?“ Even with a gurgling toddler on his lap Sandor managed to look sinister. “Or why would I come here and find my wife half the size she was when she left me.”

His gaze flickered Sansa’s way, sweeping over the food in front of her. “You’re too skinny. Your bones must have grown hollow from lack of food, like those of true birds.”

“Nonsense.” She picked up a jug of wine and poured Sandor half a cup. “You’ve only ever seen me pregnant or just after Rickard’s birth. I am perfectly healthy the way I am.” She hoped the reminder that Sandor hadn’t exactly asked for her as a wife would serve to soften her family towards what was about to come. She could tell that Sandor was in a mood to make the most of it.

Rickard grabbed for a piece of carrot and finally managed to pull Sandor’s attention to the food in front of him. He frowned at the carrot in Rickards’s fist. “What does he eat?”

“Anything he picks up that is cut small. Not the meats, though.”

Sandor grunted. Keeping his son’s fingers well away from the knife, he set about cutting up everything on his plate until it all seemed to be part of the thick gravy. Sansa flinched. The mess would be brutal.

Sure enough, the wine Sandor drank was partially running down his burned cheek and the smashed food didn’t fare any better. Rickard was, in industrious and painstaking happiness, treasure hunting around Sandor’s plate, pushing food into his mouth with not quite the right intention and with little aim, making a mess of his face and not sparing the table or his and Sandor’s clothes. It didn’t matter much, though. Sandor wasn’t a smooth eater either, and looking at the production they made of it, even her family couldn’t deny that they were father and son.

“You didn’t promise too much with your table manners.” Catelyn observed coldly. Sansa’s father was glowering, probably trying to puzzle out what Sandor hoped to gain from this display, while her siblings watched in various degrees of fascination (Rickon and Bran), glee (Arya), and disgust (Robb and Jon). “And your wife seems to fill your cup only half full,” – nothing escaped her mother’s notice it seemed. On this evening, it was almost enough to make Sansa pity her – ”probably out of fear that you overindulge. Perhaps you’ll see the sense in my proposal, then.”

Sandor wiped his mouth and cheek with the back of his hand, missing the warning glance Sansa’s father sent her mother’s way. Trying to keep Rickard from overturning his cup, Sandor got splattered with food as Rickard decided to drop his hands in his plate instead. It was unclear whether it was unintentional or just part of the bigger accident taking place in front of them. In any case, Sandor only chuckled at Rickard and distractedly motioned for her mother to carry on.

“Clearly, Rickard would benefit from some parental expertise. Naturally, Sansa is always welcome to stay at Winterfell, but if you came to take her away, it would be no hardship to keep Rickard here. It makes sense to–“

 Sandor cut her off. “You are not getting my son, you greedy old hag.”

Lord Stark’s hand fell on the table in a loud smack, rattling the cups and plates. “Enough with your impertinence! You will address my wife with respect.”

“Or what?” Sandor laughed at him, but it didn’t sound happy as it did when his son stumbled into his arms, it sounded rough and dangerous. “I already don’t like you, and today you’ve given me reason enough that even Sansa can’t object to my anger. Yet, she is still married to me through no fault but your own. She is mine. The boy is mine. If you send me from your hearth, they will follow. And if that turns out to be too much of a hassle, I can just leave them in a snow drift.” Sandor bared his teeth in an ugly grin. “You’ve tipped your hand too early, Stark. As I see it, I don’t need to do horseshit to please you.”

It was a demonstration of force, of sheer stubbornness and unwillingness to be moved by social obligations. Sandor was baring his loyalties for all to see, uncompromisingly and mercilessly. Sansa could practically feel the gaze of her siblings on them, how they cautiously considered the new power balance at the table, mentally tiptoeing around father and Sandor. Everyone, even Rickon, held their breaths, self-preservation making them unwilling to pick sides just yet.

Only Sandor seemed to be completely at ease, wolfing down unholy amounts of food and feeding Rickard on the by. And Arya, but Arya was always happy when there was trouble about.

########################

As soon as the door closed behind them, Sansa rounded on Sandor. “Earlier in the hall, when you truly had reason to be angry, you defended them. And at the first opportunity you make them hate you for no reason at all.”

Sandor was already pulling of his shirt and unlacing his breeches. “They will come around.” Apparently not sharing her distress, he walked up behind Sansa and started to undo her braid, kissing her neck as he went.

“How can they if you insist on being your most churlish self?”

Finished with her hair, he pressed his face into it, while his hands were running up and down her sides, over her stomach and breasts, as if relearning her body. “You came around eventually, didn’t you, and I was always my most churlish self with you.”

Sansa sighed, sinking into his touch. “That’s not true. You never treated me badly.”

“I wasn’t treating anyone badly today, either. If anything, it was the other way around.” Sandor spun her around to face him. “But they won’t get honeyed words from me.” He drew her close and placed kisses down her throat. Pulling on her dress, he rasped, “Take it off, little bird.”

Sansa mulled his words over while she got undressed. In the end, she decided to let him worry about. Dropping her dress on to the floor, she stumbled into bed with Sandor, his large body covering hers. _How much I’ve missed him._ Her hands were in his hair as he kissed her, stroked her hurriedly and then, quickly, pushed inside her. Sansa gasped. _Oh, yes, and this, I’ve missed this._

He moved and just like that, it was over. She felt his body shudder against hers as wetness spread between her legs. Sansa murmured a soft no and tried to hold on to him when he withdrew from her. “By the seven, little bird, just a second…” His voice trailed off and a few moments later, he was fast asleep.

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The love-making came in the early morning hours, when they were both rested and eager. Afterwards, Sansa basked in the warmth of Sandor’s body. Smiling, she turned around to look at him and found his eyes on her, unguarded and soft. Winding her arms around his neck, she pulled herself closer. “It’s been six moons. Have you missed me?”

His hand trailed down her back. “More than anything, little bird. It gets lonely on the road.”

His meaning sank in slowly and, word by word, it doused the warm glow she had been feeling. _Lonely, yes. And what do men do when they are lonely?_ She remembered how he had ridden out to the coast often, the first time more than a year ago. She thought of her father, who loved her mother dearly, yet brought Jon back from the war not even a year after his wedding.

The last of her pleasure left her, making room for apprehension. For six moons they had been apart, and she had often worried about his safety but never about his fidelity. Yet, she’d felt his need the night before, consuming and impatient. A cold and ugly feeling settled in her stomach.

 _Should I even ask?_ She bit her lips, struggling for serenity. _I’m not supposed to begrudge him that._

“What is it, little bird?” His hand was rubbing her waist. “You’ve stopped chirping.”

She loosened her arm around his neck. Carefully, she started, “If you fathered a bastard, would you tell me?”

He jolted, his body growing stiff. “Where’s this coming from?”

Leveling her eyes at his chest, she probed, “I know what it means when men get lonely on the road, I’m not an idiot. I’m not sure I’d want to know, but if there’s a child…”

His silence weighed on her, pressing against her chest. Finally, he groaned. “Little bird, you must know.” His hand was heavy on her side, not as heavy as his words, though. “Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out.”

He sounded so serious, so grave. She lifted her gaze, but his eyes wouldn’t meet hers. She withdrew her arms from around his neck and tried to scoot back, but his hand kept her in place. Her voice was wooden as she asked, “Figured what?”

He pulled her flush against his body, his chin resting on her head. “Leave a man a little pride.”

 _And what will you leave me? My heart in pieces?_ “Pride? Is that what fathering bastards is about?”

“Fuck’s sake, Sansa.” For a moment, his body tensed, then he relaxed again. He drew small circles on her hip with one hand and moved his lips gently across her cheek. “Fat chance of me fathering a bastard.” He nuzzled the skin below her ear, his voice a whisper against her skin, words hesitant. “Sansa, you’re the only woman I’ve ever known.”

Sansa’s first reaction was to laugh at the obvious lie. _This can’t be true. Men buy whores, there are peasants and serving wenches…_ The memory came unbidden. _‘A serving girl once told me that none of the wenches at the castle would have him, not even for coin. Couldn’t imagine kissing his burned off face.’_

She tried to pull back and look at him, but he held her tight. “Women don’t like to fuck ugly dogs. You’re the only one that has no choice.” His voice was quiet, but the slight tremor gave away that he, too, remembered. Probably remembered more than just the men talking about it. She couldn’t see his eyes, but he sounded mortified to admit as much.

Yet, his embarrassment seemed a small thing compared to the hot possessiveness that swept over her. _He’s min_ e. _No other has had him, and no one will._ She buried her hand in his hair. “Sandor...”

“Don’t. Go back to sleep.”

Sansa couldn’t sleep, though. She remembered the beginnings of their marriage: How he’d called himself hideous, how he’d never dared to touch her, and how she had to seduce him to her bed.

She picked up his hand and kissed his palm. _You’re wrong. I choose you and I’ll love you enough for twenty women._ She settled his hand on her breast, resting it over her heart.

########################

A slap with the flat of his sword sent her tumbling down.

“I wasn’t ready.”

“Then get ready.” He gave her a moment to find her feet before he sent her down again, using nothing but a lazy sweep of his wrist, just to drive the point home.

“Bloody hells.” She sputtered, wiping the dirt from her face and groping about for her sword. At least her cursing was up to par, but even there he could still teach her a few things.

He stepped on her blade. “If you fight like a cunt, don’t be surprised when they bugger you with your own sword.” She looked up at him, eyes burning, but she let go of her weapon.

He picked up her sword and held it out in front of him. “Now stop glaring and start listening, wolf girl.” Twirling the blade in his fingers, he continued. “Your sword is puny. _You_ are puny. You’ll never have my weight or my range, so don’t try to fight the way I do.”

She finally scrambled to her feet. “How should I fight?”

“Quick.” He threw the sword to her and watched as she caught it. “And don’t attack. Find the weak spot and wait for your opening. Keep out of my range, only come close when you see your chance.”

Sandor drove her in circles around the courtyard, never quite allowing her to escape his sword, calling out command after command.

“Don’t scratch my fucking armor. Poke at my uncovered parts, if you must.”

“What are you doing, strutting into my blow? Practicing ways to die?”

“Stop dancing around, you’ll trip and bugger yourself on your own sword.”

Even to him, it looked grueling, but she seemed happy to be repeatedly pushed into the dirt. It wasn’t like there was much else to do for Sandor, maybe some riding or hunting. And waiting for a good moment, avoiding his in-laws and trying to find the stomach to tell Sansa why he’d really come to Winterfell.

########################

“But I want to!” Sandor heard the whining as soon as the boys came around the bend. Hidden in the brush, Sandor tracked their progress down the path.

“Your pony cannot keep up with our horses.” The idiot’s voice sounded like that of any older brother, long-suffering meant to hide irritation.

The wolf pup wouldn’t give up. “Then give me a horse. I am old enough for a horse.”

“Stop your wailing, Rickon.” The idiot snapped at the boy. “I’ve told you before. You’re too small to sit a proper saddle. You can watch, or I’ll take you to Old Nan in the nursery.”

 _Picking on his siblings, like a true older brother._ The pup fell silent as they continued down the road, trailing a few steps behind his brother and his horse. Sandor strung the dead rabbit to his belt and whistled for Lady but didn’t waiting for her to appear from the undergrowth before he stepped on the road to follow the boys.

Men were gathered at the edge of a frozen lake. A hunting party had set out in the morning and hadn’t made it far by the looks of it, idling about the edge of the lake and watching the children arrange their horses. On the opposite shore, against the dark wall of the forest, a drop of color was waving in the wind.

 _A race, then._ The Stark children and a few other brats from the castle were sitting ready on their mounts. The kraken boy called out to the eldest Stark, shouting for him to hurry lest he lose again. Laughing, idiot boy jumped onto his horse, not sparing his brother a glance as he rode away. The pup came to a stop and watched his retreating back. _So easy to overlook, so easy to bully for a larger boy._

Sandor stepped up next to him, Lady at his heel, her snout still red from rabbit’s blood. He ignored the nervous looks of the other men as they shuffled a few feet away. “What are they doing, boy?”

The pup didn’t take his eyes of the horses. “They’re racing across the lake. They always do when it first freezes over but they never let me join.”

True enough, the riders were joking and jostling for the best position, getting their mounts in a line. Sandor tapped Lady to get her to her feet. Grabbing the back of his coat, he lifted the boy clean of the ground and placed him on Lady’s back, right behind the shoulder blades. “Hold on to the scruff of her neck, boy, and don’t let go. Feel how she moves? She’s got four legs, like a horse, but her gait is smooth, and she’ll be faster.” The boy looked stunned but grabbed on to the fur readily enough.

“When they race, she’ll catch up. If they ride well, the horses will stay their course. It makes not matter, you’ll beat them as long as you hold on and don’t fall.” The boy nodded seriously, tightening his grip on the wolf. The men around them were watching, but no one spoke up.

The signal came and the horses started across the plane. Sandor let go of Lady and she chased across the flat, the boy on her back shrieking. She easily caught up to the running horses and when she did, all hell broke loose. The horses shied away from the wolf, turning in a panicked flight, the riders tearing at the reins uselessly. The worst was the eldest Stark. His horse rose on his hind legs when Lady dashed past and dumped its rider clean on the ground.

Lady kept running, the boy on her back laughing manically. She ran all the way to the forest and turned around in a wide arch, coming back at a leisurely trot. When she reached Sandor, she dropped to her stomach and shook off her rider. The boy rolled into the snow, still giggling. When he spotted his older brother approaching, he bounced to his feet and ran to meet him.  Excitedly, he called out. “Robb, Robb, did you see? I beat you.”

His brother didn’t even acknowledge that. He strode past the pup right up to Sandor, his eyes flashing furiously. “What the hell, Clegane? Someone could have been hurt.”

Sandor met that with a sneer. “What are you wailing about, boy? It’s your horse that dropped you.”

“Because you sent a dire wolf after us. Did you want me to break my neck?” Stark was raising his voice in anger, attracting the attention of every man around them. _Fool boy, do you need everyone to see me teach you a lesson?_

“So what? You think I wouldn’t make use of the wolf in a fight? And if your horse spooks and drops you on your arse, you think I wouldn’t take your head off?” Sandor spat at his feet. “This is no game, boy. Train your mount properly. And learn to sit a horse before you tell your brother that he can’t.”

That had the idiot blustering. “I know how to sit my horse. And if you want a fight, it will be me who takes your head off.”

Sandor laughed in his face. “You hold your sword like a toddler holds his prick when he takes his first piss. If I hadn’t been in such a generous mood yesterday, your head would be a feast for the crows right now.”

In front of all his men, the future Lord of Winterfell turned as red as his hair, if from embarrassment or fury was hard to say. Without a word, he turned on his heels and stormed away.

Sandor had his own lesson to learn from that race, though. Rickon wouldn’t stop pestering him about riding Lady again, as if she had suddenly turned into his favorite pony. At least it kept him away from the horses, he truly was too young for a proper mount.

########################

For the second time in a row, the boy was hit by the padded butt of the quintain and with a loud splatter, he plopped into the slush on the ground. _Some knight he will be_. Sandor snorted and watched as the boy struggled to be released from the trampled snow while his rouncey trotted around the courtyard in confusion.

The wolf girl was next. She handled herself slightly better and kept her seat, even if her lance glanced off the shield. But then, she was bigger than the boy and so was her horse.

Sandor had meant to take Stranger out for a ride. Instead, he stood propped against the wall, holding Stranger’s bridle, and watched the spectacle in front of him. He was not the only one. Lord Stark was watching from the top of the wall, his Master-at-Arms by his side. 

No doubt, the boy had tried to ride well to impress his father and had dropped the reins and the lance in confusion. Stupid, but he was still just a boy.

When the wolf boy finally managed to catch his straying horse, Sandor called him over before he could struggle back into the saddle. The boy glanced quickly up to his father and, finding him in discussion with Ser Rodrik, plodded over to Sandor.  

“Neither you nor the horse know what you’re doing, boy.”

Not looking at him, the boy murmured into his collar. “I usually do better, but father is saving all the good horses for hunting.”

Sandor grunted. “The horse is too small. So are you.” And when the boy just scuffed his boots, he added, “You’d be better suited to be a fool than a knight.”

Finally, the boy looked at him, eyes flashing and showing some spirit. “Not true! I can be a knight.”

“Well then, come and ride a knight’s horse.” Sandor stepped forward, took the reins from the boy’s hands and dropped them to the ground. The horse didn’t have the imagination to run away anyways. 

When beckoned forward, the boy hesitated, watching timidly as Stranger threw his head. “I, uh–“

Sandor smirked. “I thought you were a brave knight.” The boy took a few steps and as soon as he was close enough, Sandor grabbed him and threw him up in the saddle. The boy squeaked and Stranger stomped.

Ignoring them, Sandor led Stranger to stand in a straight line before the quintain. Lord Stark had stopped talking to Rodrik and was watching them from the wall. When Sandor grinned at him, he abruptly turned away and started towards the stairs, no doubt in a hurry to reach the yard.

Sandor looked at the boy. By now, he was at least gripping the reins properly and sitting straight. Sandor shouted at the wolf girl to bring her brother a lance. Once the boy was ready, Sandor warned, “Try to hit the shield and stay in the saddle, nothing else. Stranger knows what to do, so don’t get in his way.”

He let go of them and when they didn’t move, he hit Stranger’s flank and off they went. The courser knew what was expected of him and carried the boy swiftly towards the fiercely stuffed opponent. The lance didn’t hit all that good, but Stranger was quick and well past before the padded butt came swinging round.

After passing the quintain, though, the boy had trouble to control the black horse. No longer having a goal in front of him, Stranger pranced across the courtyard at his whim. Sandor whistled and watched the stallion staccato towards him.

The boy dismounted and as soon as he landed on the ground, Stranger’s ears went down and he tried to kick at him. Sandor grabbed Stranger’s reins and pushed the boy away. “Stay back, now.”

The boy stumbled back, hitting Lord Stark who came up behind him. Stark grabbed the boy’s shoulders. “Have you taken leave of your senses, Clegane? That monstrous horse is not for children.”

Shrugging off his father’s hands, the boy disagreed. “I’m almost a man grown and soon I’ll be a knight riding at tourneys. On a horse like that.” He pointed at Stranger, clearly proud to have ridden him.

Sandor clicked his tongue at the boy. “Tourneys are no games. A man could lose his life, or worse.”

The boy dropped his arm. “What’s worse than losing one’s life?”

“Just this autumn, a man riding in a tourney at Crakehall lost his balls. He fell and his mount landed on him so badly, they had to cut them clean off. Not sure if he kept his cock.” The boy’s eyes grew round. He must have been just around the age where he was figuring out what it all was good for.

Stark didn’t see the fun in that. “Stop with your ugly tales, Clegane.” It was a Lord’s voice, the one that was usually obeyed around these parts, Sandor guessed. “He’s too young for tourneys and he doesn’t need to hear your filth.” 

Just to be contrary, Sandor asked. “How old is he then? That he needs protecting from the world?”

“I am twelve.” The boy drew himself up to his shrimpy height. “And I don’t need protecting. I want to hear about tourneys. And the world.” He frowned, clearly not quite sure what he was agreeing to.

Keeping his eyes on Stark, Sandor answered. “I learned the hard way, when I was his age. He’ll have to learn too.”

The boy got all excited at that. “You rode in tourneys? At twelve?”

“No, when I was twelve your father decided to sack King’s Landing and I marched in Lord Tywin’s army.”

Stark drew in a breath, his hand landing on the boy’s shoulder once more, pulling him back from Sandor. “Don’t give him notions. War’s no place for children. What was a twelve-year-old doing in that fight?”

Sandor shrugged. “I was no child. Even then, I was bigger than your eldest and more deadly, too.” Turning away, he led and impatient Stranger from the yard.

Sandor was careful to avoid the wolf boy after that, not in the mood to repeat endless stories about tourneys and war. Also, he didn’t want Sansa to get the idea that he was bad company for children. He wasn’t – after all, his son didn’t even understand his “filth” just yet.

One day, though, the would-be knight hit him out of thin air. He heard the screech of a woman echo across the courtyard just before a weight hit his shoulders and had him crash into the snow. Swearing, Sandor got to his feet and spun around, only to find the wolf boy sitting two paces away.

The boy was rubbing his arm. “You weren’t supposed to stand there. That’s where I come off the tower.”

“Off the tower?”

The boy picked himself up and nodded. “From the roof.”

Sandor looked up. _What is he, a crow?_

Before he could ask, Lady Stark called out to her son. Puzzled, Sandor watched as she came running across the courtyard, a dark look on her face. “Bran, did you just fall off the roof?”

The boy got a stubborn expression. “I never fall mother.”

Breathing heavily, Lady Stark came to stand in front of the boy, next to Sandor. Sandor shifted away, bemused. “I saw you slip, and don’t tell me you meant to land on Clegane.” She looked at him briefly and Sandor wondered if this would somehow turn out to be his fault, too. But the Lady turned back to her son, aiming her disapproval elsewhere for once. “In winter the tiles will freeze, and the stones will turn slick. You’ll fall if you keep this up.”

The boy stomped his foot. “I won’t!”

 _A quarrelsome lot, these wolves._ Telling himself he shouldn’t, Sandor stepped closer and pushed against the boy’s shoulder. “Maybe from the roof you won’t, but from a horse you will.”

That got the boy’s attention. “What?”

“It’s no wonder you’re worse than your sister with the quintain. As long as you use your legs to crawl all over a heap of stone, they won’t learn to sit a horse.”

“I can sit a horse!”

Sandor shook his head. “Not properly. You can climb or be a knight. Not both.”

“Oh.” The boy’s face fell. “Maybe if I climb a bit less?”

“The more you climb, the worse you’ll ride. You won’t be good enough to sit Stranger, that’s for sure.” The boy mulled this over. Disappointed, he nodded once and walked off, his mother seemingly forgotten.

“That was a lie.” Lady Stark looked at Sandor. “Well put though it was.”

 _Look who’s talking to me all of a sudden_. Sandor shrugged. “I don’t need wolves dropping on me out of the blue.” He walked away but turned back after a few steps. “If he has any sense, he’ll pick climbing over being a knight. Better to break one’s neck than to be a ridiculous fool.”

########################

It was agreed that Sandor would carry the shadowcat back to Winterfell. The other horses spooked at the scent, but Stranger was too well trained for such follies. It made the other hunters keep a careful distance to Sandor on the way back. Only the idiot boy forced his horse up next to Sandor’s.

“That was a clean cut, Clegane.” The boy admitted grudgingly.

Sandor grunted. “Do you have wine?”

The boy’s brow knitted in confusion. “Wine? No.”

“Then piss off.”

For a moment, Sandor thought it had worked. “Rather reckless, though, charging in on your own. What would you have done had you missed?”

“I don’t miss what I aim for, boy. Now get lost.”

Ignoring that, the boy kept his mare up to speed. “The shadowcat was clearly mad. It could have gone for your horse. What then?”

Sandor harrumphed. “Then it would have been trampled.”

“Your horse doesn’t seem to fear much,” the boy observed, idiot that he was.

“Stranger’s a war horse. He doesn’t shy away when approached, he kills.” Sandor forced Stranger against the mare, crowding her until she broke away from the boy’s hand and saved herself with a few rash gallops.

A few minutes later, the boy had caught up again. “How do I train my horse to do that? Not to fear predators, I mean, and attack on command.”

Sandor huffed. “You don’t. You need to train them when they’re young, fresh from the mother is best.” He pursed his lips. “You think I would have taken on that blasted dire wolf if I had gotten her all grown?” ~~~~

The boy’s brow furrowed. “How do I know it will grow up to be strong when I pick the filly so young?”

Sandor shrugged. “I can look at your brother and know he’ll never grow past my shoulders. The promise in a filly shows even before it takes its first step.”

So, one morning, they left for winter town to look at horseflesh. Sandor pointed to the signs that gave a good fighting horse away. For an idiot, the boy was eager enough to learn but had a soft spot for beauty and elegance. He picked the pretty dancers over the aggressive bruisers every time. It was a hard habit to break.

In the end, he picked a lovely mare, young still but older than Sandor would have wanted for himself, sweeter too. When the boy boasted about his new horse at dinner, Sandor said as much.

“Why’d you let him buy her then?” the wolf girl wanted to know.

Sandor grunted. “When he tried to pet her, she snapped at his hand. At least she knows how to spot a fool. Between the two of them, she can be the smart one.”

The laughter died on the boy’s face. His siblings thought it was funny, though, Sansa chuckling softly and the wolf girl braying her drink across the table, much to her mother’s horror.

########################

“I don’t like to let Clegane out of my eyes.”

Cat sighed. Her son-in-law wasn’t exactly to her tastes either, but she knew her children had taken to him. Even Robb.

“He seems to bear no ill will and watching him every hour of the day will change nothing.” Cat pulled on Ned’s arm, keeping him moving.

“The man’s a brute. I just don’t know what sway he holds over Sansa.” Ned trudged along dutifully, but she didn’t hold his attention. _Why, early in our marriage I would have been rattled by that._

“We still don’t know why he’s come. He’s made no demands so far, but that gives me no comfort. He’ll want Sansa, and Rickard.” Catelyn wasn’t sure if Ned was talking to her or himself. “The gods know what his plans are. Sansa shouldn’t have to go back to the Lion’s den, he should just leave her here.”

It was a conversation she knew well. They’ve had it every evening since Clegane’s arrival: their son-in-law’s manners and crude speaking, how he showed no respect to his good parents, to his wife, or to the gods, how he laid claim to their grandson whenever it pleased him, taking the boy from the nursery, from Sansa’s arms, and even from Catelyn’s care, only to vanish with him and do the seven know what. And yet, slowly everyone at Winterfell seemed to accept him, tolerate him even.

“Ned, give it a rest. We haven’t been out here in a long time. Our worries will still be waiting for us when we get back.”

They walked in silence almost the entire way to the pool. On the last stretch, they were stopped in their tracks by a loud shout and a splash, followed by a high female voice. “You savage! That was my best undershirt.”

“You took too long to undress.” Clegane’s rough voice was unmistakable.

Jolted from his musings, Ned turned to Cat. Gripping her hand, he pulled her from the path into the bushes and up the hill, until they were able to look at the small pond through the snow laden branches.

“What are you doing? That’s not what we meant–“

“Hush, I want to see what he is up to.”

It had always been the family pool, and before there was family, it had been hers and Ned’s. She’d been under the impression that no one but them still came here. Turned out she was wrong.

Sansa was in the steaming water, white fabric clinging to her body and her hair in a tangle, while Clegane was naked and just about to climb in. Catelyn got a good look before he sank waist deep into the hot pool.

“Ned, I don’t–”

“I think he has thrown her in.” Ned hissed. “What is he even doing here with her?”

Catelyn blinked. _The same thing I planned to do with you, I imagine._ That was probably not what Ned wanted to hear. ~~~~

They watched as Clegane cornered Sansa, who paddled away from him in a futile attempt to evade his groping hands. “You’re still taking too long to undress.” Clegane’s growl carried all the way up the hill.

In the pool, Sansa squealed and thrashed as Clegane grabbed her around the waist. “No, don’t, you’ll rip it.” Laughing, Clegane let himself fall back into the water, taking Sansa with him. When he resurfaced, he had a wad of wet cloth in his hand. He threw it carelessly into the snow.

Sansa broke the surface gasping for air, her hair flowing down her chest and naked back.

“That’s better, little bird.”

“I hope you like watching then,” Sansa spluttered at him. “From now on, you’ll stay on your side of the pond.”

Clegane laughed again. “Or what, little bird?” Hitting the water with his hands, he slowly circled around Sansa. It was difficult to read the emotions in his gruff voice, but Sansa clearly did her best to sound put-out.

“Or I will get out of the water and run away.”

“Where are you going to run? You’re stark naked.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Sansa raised her arms to ward off his approach.

“I wouldn’t call it a fault.” Sansa must have seen something in his face for she turned around and tried to wade away, but it was hopeless. Clegane lunged for her, body fully out of the water for a brief moment, before he came down on Sansa and took them both under the surface once more.

“Well,” Catelyn said dryly, “You didn’t want to let him out of your eyes. Now you get to see everything.”

“Can you believe this? In our own home, no less.” Ned looked at Catelyn, bewilderment stealing over his features when he found her smiling.

“They are married, Ned.”

“That doesn’t mean he can force himself on her. He should respect her. He shouldn’t –” Ned turned back to the pond.  

Clegane was holding Sansa in his lap, sitting on the lower end of the pool, his face pressed against her neck. Sansa’s head was resting on his shoulder, her body drifting gently in Clegane’s arms. She was either dead or just really unwilling to struggle against his hold.

“Time to go.” Catelyn grabbed Ned firmly by the hand. “We aren’t meant to see this.”

“I should go down and confront to him. He can’t just–“

“That’s the last thing you should do.” She pulled on his hand, guiding their way back to the path.

Ned followed her, reluctantly. “Cat, he trapped her.” When she didn’t answer, Ned pressed. “Did you even see the same thing I just saw?”

 Cat shook her head. “I doubt it. I just saw a young man in love with his wife.”

In love or not, her son-in-law was still crude. There really was no need to mention the footprints to Ned, especially since Clegane realized that they left the path in an awkward direction. There would have been no reason to mention the pool at all.

########################

Sandor had planned to search for rabbit tracks, but all he could see was Sansa lying on the ground, struggling and crying out while her idiot brother kneeled above her, holding her down, pushing her into the snow. It looked just like his nightmares, the ones in which he stood by helplessly and watched as Gregor raped and killed Lenora. 

A red haze fell over Sandor’s vision. Unlike in his nightmares, he wasn’t paralyzed, and he didn’t feel helpless. He felt mad, mind and body falling into a frenzy, his arms and legs moving so fast everyone around him seemed sluggish. If he’d had a sword, he would have cleaved Stark in two. Instead, he ripped him off Sansa and sent him down with a fist to the face. Someone yelled at him, but his heart was pumping furiously, and he couldn’t hear a thing for the blood rushing in his ears.

He followed Stark down and pummeled his face again, hitting his head against the frozen ground. In his mind, Sandor saw Sansa lying on the forest floor, ravaged and lifeless, waiting for the worms to finish her. Blindly, he pulled his fist back to hit the man again, wild with fury and pain, wanting him to die for what he’d done to his sister.

Before he could land the punch, an arrow took him in the shoulder. Sandor grunted and lost his balance, falling forward. Suddenly, Sansa was there, her arms around his neck, pulling on his hair and talking at him. Holding him close. The red glow receded and he found himself kneeling on the cold ground, Sansa’s voice in his ear. “No, Sandor, no. No. It’s just a game, just a game. Don’t.”

Panting heavily, Sandor looked around. The eldest Stark boy was sitting on the ground, holding his bruised face, Snow hovering beside him. The wolf girl stared at Sandor with wide eyes, next to her Lord Stark and, with bow in hand and arrow notched, Ser Rodrik. It was eerily quiet but for the boy’s moaning and Sandor’s heavy breathing.

The arrow was still poking out of his shoulder, so Sandor reached up and broke off the tip. Then he forced the shaft out on the other side with a push of his hand. Grunting, he almost toppled over, but Sansa caught his weight.

Lord Stark spoke first. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“He attacked me.” The boy had the nerve to sound shocked. “Bloody hells, he meant to kill me.”

Sansa spoke up, agitated. “No. No, he didn’t. It was a misunderstanding.”

Sandor pushed himself to his feet. “No, it wasn’t. I would have killed him and I still might.” In response, Rodrik pulled the bow string taut.

The Stark boy cursed, still sitting on the ground. “Why would you–“

“Why would you push your sister to the ground and hold her down? You like her struggling and screaming, boy?” Sandor showed his teeth and took a step forward, moving between the boy and Sansa. “What else would you have done had I not come along?”

All the blood drained from the boy’s face, his voice turning shrill. “What? No, I didn’t, she’s my sister…“

Sansa caught up to Sandor, pulling on his arm. “No, Sandor, it was just a game. A silly game, nothing more.”

Sandor kept his eyes on the Stark boy. “A game that makes you scream and struggle? Tell me, boy, what kind of game is it when a man forces a woman down and doesn’t heed her cries?”

The boy scrambled to his feet, facing Sandor. His words barely above a whisper. “You’re mad. You’re absolutely mad. I’m her brother, I would never–“

Sandor roared. “Would never what? Rape her? Kill her? Leave her for the crows?” He pulled his arm from Sansa’s grasp and stepped closer, forcing the boy to stumble back. “My sister was only 14 when my brother took her to the woods. He left her broken and naked for me to find and bury.” Sandor was yelling so hard, spittle sprayed the boy’s face. “You’re her brother you say? That means nothing, you hear? NOTHING!”

Silence fell, the only sound Sandor’s labored breathing. The Stark boy was pale as a ghost, staring at Sandor. His mouth opening and closing without making a sound.

Calmer, Sandor addressed him again. “You’re her brother, aye, but I don’t trust you. You lay another hand on her and I will kill you.” Sandor took hold of Sansa’s arm and pulled her from the scene, not looking back.  

########################

Sansa stroked the back of his head and his neck under the pretense of examining his wound. She had already cleaned and dressed it, all they could do now was hope for the best. But Sandor was still sitting on the bed, staring blindly at the floor.

“Sandor, it was just a game. My brother could never hurt me.”

He looked up at her, his eyes dark grey sorrows. “Of course he can hurt you. Everyone can hurt you.”

She pressed her lips softly to his, to comfort his obvious hurt, but he didn’t respond. She kissed his burned cheek instead. “You would never hurt me, just as I would never hurt you.”

Sandor closed his eyes and leaned his head against her chest. “Oh, you can hurt me. And you probably will.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, down his burned face. “Sandor, your sister and your brother, that’s no true family.”

He freed himself from her embrace. “That’s in the past. It’s about time I tell you just how much so.” Sandor rose from the bed, moving sluggishly. “Let’s find you some food first, little bird. You’re still too thin.”

They sat down at the family table, like every evening, but left Rickard in the nursery for once. Her family had grown to accept Sandor’s presence and even her mother had softened towards him recently. Sansa wasn’t sure what brought about the change. Maybe her mother had realized that Sandor couldn’t help his eating, maybe it was the fact that he doted on Rickard. In any case, everyone but her father had come around.

Tonight, though, no one engage Sandor in easy banter. They left him in peace and kept conversations to a low murmur. When Sandor was done eating, he pushed his plate away and said without preamble, “Lord Clegane’s dead.”

All eyes settled on him.

“He didn’t make it back from an outing one day. When Lord Tywin heard, he called me back from the coast.” Sandor was looking at his wine but didn’t raise the cup to drink.

Sansa’s father cleared his throat. “Was he killed in a fight, leading a sortie for the Lannister’s?”

Sandor jerked his head. “He was whoring in some village. Must have fallen from his horse, drunk or getting one of his splitting headaches, who knows. He froze to death at night.”

Sansa dropped her hand on Sandor’s thigh and squeezed gently. She couldn’t tell if he was upset about the news or not.

“An accident, then.” Her father said pensively.

Sandor snorted. “He was lying in a ditch not two miles from the village. You really think no one found him for two days?” Sandor shook his head. “His peasants left him there to freeze to death. Had they had the courage, they would have taken a bit of sharp steel and done him in. That’s what I would have done had I found him.”

Sansa’s mother gasped. “He was your brother. The kinslayer is accursed in the eyes of gods and men.”

Sandor’s lips twitched, but there was no humor in it. “Aye, that I hope. I hope it means an eternity in the seven hells.”

Lord Stark lifted his hand to forestall anything his wife might say. “That makes you Lord Clegane. Your new seat is Clegane Keep. Why did you ride North first?”

Sandor lifted his cup and drank. He wiped his lips with the back of his hands before answering. “I have a mind of just razing the entire thing down, but Lord Tywin bade me to do my duty.”

Sansa gave his thigh another quick press before pulling her hand back. “Of course we must go. I know how to set a household to rights, it will be a relief to have something to do.”

Sandor didn’t look at her, keeping his gaze fixed on her father instead. “I was hoping you would keep my wife and my son here.”

“What?” Sansa exclaimed in dismay. “I am to accompany you. A Lady’s place is at her Lord’s side.”

“It’s not safe. Maybe some of my brother’s old friends are still there, in need of killing. Then there are the peasants and servants, or what’s left of them. They won’t be glad to see another Clegane.” Sandor gave her a hard stare. “You and the boy are my only weak spots. I can’t take you there without knowing what awaits us. I don’t even know what’s in the winter stores.”

“But–“

Her father spoke over Sansa, addressing her husband. “If you only wanted to leave Sansa here you wouldn’t have come. You want something else.”

Sandor dipped his head in agreement. “I need men. Being a Clegane means I can’t trust any Westermen I might hire.”

“How many?”

“Ten. Five to go with me now, five to take Sansa South later. Skilled with bow and sword would be best.” Sandor paused. “Snow. And the wolf girl.”

That managed to surprise even Lord Stark. “What could you possibly want with my young daughter?”

“She wants to be a knight, she needs to squire, does she not?”

Arya hopped from her chair and screamed yes. Her father silenced her with a wave of his hand.

“She’s a girl. She can’t be a knight.”

“She can’t be anointed, but she can be everything else. I heard that woman knight – that what you called her, wolf girl? – the knight from Tarth is even riding in tourneys.” 

Arya spoke up, voice high and excited. “Yes, father. She’s a noble man’s daughter and she’s a knight. I could do that. I want to squire for Clegane.” Her face was animated, showing more enthusiasm for the idea of sword and armor than any girl had a right to.

“Sit down, wolf girl. As a squire, you don’t interrupt your betters.” Sandor turned back to Lord Stark. “You won’t find a husband for her in the North during the winter. In the South, she can squire for me and try to pick up some manners in her sister’s household. I might even be able to get her off your hands before the winter ends.” Arya shot him a dark glare. “If not, she can keep her sister company.”

And this revealed Sandor’s true motivation. Bringing her sister into a new household would give Sansa an ally in the eyes of servants and neighbors. Bringing a sister who wields a sword might be unusual, but also unusually conducive to her safety whenever Sandor could not be with her. Sansa watched her father work it out, coming to the same conclusion.

Jon cleared his throat. “What do you want with me? I’m to join the Night’s Watch.”

Sandor shrugged. “Wall’s bloody fucking cold right now. I have work for you. The wall will still be waiting when that’s done.”

In the end, Ned gave him fifteen men as well as Jon and Arya. It appeared to Sansa that her father had finally come around as well.

########################

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, drama will take its course. I plan to strike Sansan down, hard. Say, hello rapist!


End file.
